Unfamiliar
by Aviusa
Summary: The year is 1942 and Myrtle is the laughing stock of Hogwarts. But when a strange new boy randomly appears, all her expectations are about to change. YGO&HP crossover BakuraMyrtle
1. Blubbering Baby

-Yes, yet another Bakura Myrtle story by Anei Aikouka and I.

Blubbering Baby

The tears ran freely down her already sodden face; bits of soaked tissue looking like white freckles sprinkled across her cheeks. Why did her life have to be so hard? No matter what she did, people were always making fun of her, everyone made fun of her.

"Look, Pryor is crying again!" Olive's squeal of glee struck Myrtle like lighting; she whirled around to face this new adversary.

"Go away Hornby." Myrtle managed to mumble out past her tears.

"Tell me Pryor, how can your parents afford to keep you that fat and pay for all those tissues you blubbering baby?" Olive Hornby began to giggle, hardly able to work the last few words out past her bubbling laughter; leaning forward in mirth and flicking back her long sleek black hair, out of her face.

"Go away!" Myrtle's eyes flashed with tears and anger. "I am not a blubbering baby!"

"Oh yes you are, you pimple faced little four eyes." Olive replied scathingly; sticking out her tongue shamelessly. "Your face looks like it's about to pop, your eyes are so swollen." As Olive drew her wand, her face covered in a malicious smile, Myrtle reached for her own wand too late.

The painful swelling began almost immediately, and Myrtle had the uncomfortable sensation of being inflated like a balloon. Her fingers pressed into one shapeless mass, as her belly and shoulders swelled to fill her robes to ripping; she uselessly flailed at Olive, trying to hit her enemy with her huge mitts of hands.

"What is happening here?" Another female voice broke harshly into Myrtle's humiliation. "Let me through!" The voice rose several octaves as the person it belonged to pushed her way through the tight ring of students that had formed around the pair; by this time Myrtle could only see the ceiling as she had begun to float up, her arms forced out like branches on a tree and still growing.

"Myrtle spontaneously began to inflate McGonagall!" Hornby squealed out the lie most convincingly, but a loud humph from the head girl declared her disbelief.

"You may all disperse!" McGonagall declared firmly, grabbing painfully onto Myrtle's swollen ankle. "I'll be taking you to the infirmary." She added, not quite so harshly, at Myrtle's back, and began to walk down the hall.

"Not this!" Myrtle wailed, but all that came out was a single long breath, screeching out of her wind pipe like helium out of a balloon. Now, everyone in the entire castle would see her looking like a blimp! A set of tears fought their way past her swollen eyes too roll out over her, now pudgy, cheeks.

"Madame Brandon will have you back to rights in no time; there's no use crying over spilled milk." This only worked to set Myrtle off on another spat of crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping down on the seventeen-year-old's head. Myrtle's sobs continued to grow in volume; soon were accompanied by muffled sniffs.

With each tear Myrtle envisioned a different kind of torture her classmate would come up with. She would be called balloon Myrtle. The blimp; her head was filled with hot air rather then brains. The poking that would ensue, 'don't let me burst your bubble' and maybe they'd even try to roll her down the stairs or something. With a snap her glasses splayed out across her face, unable anymore to go around it by any stretch of the imagination.

"Madame Brandon, Myrtle's been inflated." McGonagall called, as they entered the infirmary.

An older woman, very much looking like an old crone, shuffled stoop shoulderedly out from behind a curtain that had already been erected around one of the beds. "Oh, the poor dear," taking the young girl's ankle from the much taller girl, Madame Brandon walked her over to the next empty bed; muttering something Myrtle immediately fell softly to the bed, the oddest feeling of escaping air creeping over her skin as she began, slowly, to deflate. "That'll only take a few minutes." She finished comfortingly, turning back to McGonagall.

Myrtle lay back on the many pillows that adorned the bed, her tears slowly stopping as she was able to relax; her limbs shrinking back to their normal size, and becoming more flexible.

"Olive Hornby." Parts of McGonagall's and Brandon's conversation whiffed across to her on a late summer breeze that also carried the sounds of youths enjoying themselves on the front lawn. Why was she always the one picked on? What had she ever done to deserve this?

"I'm very busy at the moment, could you go and tell the Head of Slytherin? The Ministry just sent us a boy. Where they found him, I don't know, but he's not in very good-" Brandon's voice was little more then a whispering in her ear, and she was distracted by her glasses slowly sliding down her face.

Catching them in her, now normal sized, hands; she held them awkwardly to her face. Turning her head to the side, she watched as the breeze continued on, ruffling the curtains that obscured the next bed. A boy?

"Myrtle will be back to normal in no time; I'm sure you have more important things to attend to." The conversation ended; Myrtle heard the pair's retreating footsteps, and Madame Brandon going into the medicine room.

Flexing her fingers one by one, Myrtle felt almost normal, and the feeling of losing air was fading; who was this boy? Sliding off her bed, she reached forward, with the hand that was not clutching her glasses to her face, and pulled back the curtain that obscured her view; there he lay.

He was sleeping, his short white hair was splayed across his pillow; bruises blooming royal blacks and blues across his entire visible body, everywhere not covered by the thin infirmary robe someone had dressed him in. He was shivering…

"Myrtle," Madame Brandon called, and Myrtle dropped the sheet and turned. "You should be finished deflating now." She continued as she shuffled around from behind the medicine room door. "Let me fix your glasses."

Myrtle obediently walked over, handing the witch the two halves that had once been her glasses.

"Reparo. You'd better be getting along dear." Madame Brandon finished cheerfully, glancing at the hidden bed.

Myrtle took back her glasses, and obediently walked out of the infirmary; barely contemplating the teasing to come, as her thoughts were all consumed by the strange boy in the infirmary.

A/N: Thought I might mention, since it has been a recurring theme through all the rest of my M/B fanfiction, this story will not be ending with their first kiss.  
So, yeah, those of you who hate the pairing will be forced, if you make yourself read this fanfiction, I guess, to endure much more romance...?  
Yeah, anyway, please read on.  
Don't forget to review!


	2. Past

Past

Coming awake, Bakura tried to take in as much of his situation as was possible without giving away his return to consciousness. He was lying on something soft, and the garment that was wrapped around him was of a thinner, finer material than any that he had touched before. It felt as he thought the robes of the Pharaoh and his priests must have, soft, gentle, thin, and light as a cloud. Every muscle hurt, and he could feel the duller ache of bruises over his face and body, but the sharp stabbing pain from the ribs that the guards had broken had vanished completely.

Light shone from somewhere overhead, and as soon as Bakura's eyes had adjusted he opened them into slits, still trying to hide his awareness from anyone who might be watching him. He didn't know where he was, but he knew where he had been when the sudden pain of the priest's magic had overwhelmed him and he blacked out, and the Pharaoh's guards had no reason to be kind to him. As a matter of fact, he was rather surprised that he was still alive, let along lying in a bed that was this soft rather than in a dark cell somewhere, although he had no idea how they had managed to make the room so cold. He was a criminal after all. Attempting to kill the Pharaoh was high treason, not to mention the tombs that he had robbed and desecrated.

Bakura was lying in what appeared at first to be a small room with white curtains around it, moving slightly in the gentle breeze created by movement outside the curtained section. Seeing no one watching him although he could hear footsteps and soft voices outside, Bakura gingerly opened his eyes and sat up, suppressing the groan that rose to his lips as he pulled too fast on still healing scabs. Wonderingly, he touched his side, feeling the hard scab that had formed over the long sword wound that he could have sworn had cut deep enough to scrape into his ribs. It had been less than a day that he knew since he had been hurt. How was it that he was so nearly healed already? Surely the Pharaoh would not have bothered one of the holy healer priests for a simple thief who was destined for execution if he didn't die of his wounds first.

No matter how quiet he had been, his movement had attracted the attention of the others in the room, and one of the curtains was pulled back to reveal an elderly man, and an equally decrepit woman looking at him concernedly. Bakura frankly stared in return, mouth dropping open at the spectacle. He hadn't realised that anyone could possibly be so old. How had they survived? The woman alone must be over fourty years old!

There was a long pause as they seemed to wait for him to speak or do something other than stare at them in amazement, taking in the incredible age of both people and the dark, heavy robes that both wore, covering their skin. At home they would have been sweating and nearly dying of the heat within minutes, but here the robes looked comfortable and Bakura found himself wishing for equally warm coverings before he caught himself. He was a prisoner, no matter where he had ended up or how strange, pale, and old the people might be. He couldn't expect such kind treatment, and should be properly grateful for such as he had already been given.

Finally the man spoke up in a strange, smooth language that Bakura had never heard anything like before. He didn't understand a word, but the youth responded to this anyway, just in case this was only a test of some sort. "I am sorry," he started humbly, trying not to anger these strangers who had taken such care of him and whose decisions would govern the remainder of his life. "I do not understand."

The man frowned and pulled a thin stick out of his robes, pointing it at Bakura and saying a few words in Latin that Bakura vaguely recognized as having to do with language. He had heard Latin before from visitors to Egypt from Rome, the growing power in the north, and had learned to understand a little, enough to puzzle out a conversation in the language if that was what these people used. He opened his mouth to say so, and found himself hit with a bolt of magic stronger and more controlled than any he had felt before. Even the Pharaoh's priests were not so controlled in their use of magic, preferring to overwhelm with immense bolts of pure power.

Frantically, Bakura ran a mental checklist, trying to find out what the man's spell had done to him. He didn't feel though he had been hurt, but he had heard of spells that would force a man to obey the caster, and although rumors of such spells had never been proved to be anything more than fiction someone with so much control over his magic might truly be able to do as the rumors had promised. Although he searched, however, Bakura could find no trace of anything controlling his actions or making him more inclined to follow a different path than the one he had intended.

Confused, Bakura turned his attention back to the man who watched him curiously, as if waiting to see how he would react. "What did you do to me?" he asked quietly, and was shocked to find himself speaking in the same language that the man had used earlier. Closing his eyes, Bakura searched out the knowledge of his own language in his mind and was immeasurably relieved to find that he still remembered how to speak in the language of Kemet, that the language had not been replaced by the knowledge of the new language which he was now speaking.

"I only gave you the ability to speak in English." The man smiled at him reassuringly. "Things will be strange enough for you without adding in the difficulty of not understanding our language. From what Atem has told the Ministry you two have been brought to us from nearly three thousand years ago."

The information staggered Bakura. He knew, of course, that Atem was the Pharaoh, and although he had never heard of the ministry the thought that thousands of years might have passed since the priests cast that spell. What had they done? How could he have slept for so long and woken up almost exactly as he had been only moments before?

Seeing that he was too stunned to respond, the man continued. "No one understands exactly how this occurred, but when the curse breakers found and destroyed the seven dark items that were buried inside the temple of the two ladies of the pharaoh," Wadjet and Nekhbet, Bakura supplied mentally, mind boggling at the thought that these strangers could speak so casually of having destroyed the items that he had risked his life to tell the truth of. "Somehow the two of you were brought back into the normal stream of time from wherever you had been placed. Atem explained that you had no idea what spell they were casting, or what it would do to you, so you've been excused from the questioning that he's undergoing, and since you're so young and so obviously untrained in the magic that you have in such abundance, it has been decided to admit you into Hogwarts as a first-year student.

"You'll be with children younger than you, I'm sorry to say, but I'm sure that you'll manage well enough. Books have been provided for you, and you'll find that the ability to read a language come along with the ability to speak it. If there's anything else that you need don't hesitate to ask either me or Madame Brandon, the healer."

"Who are you?" Bakura asked hesitantly, not wanting to anger the man who had so much power. "Why would you want to teach me?" Hadn't the Pharaoh told him that Bakura was a thief? Surely they could tell just from his hair that he was cursed, someone that no self-respecting man would wish to associate with.

"I am Professor Dippet," the man responded proudly, "The headmaster of this school. And as for why we are helping you, you're just a child, and one who couldn't possibly manage to get along without our help. If you need that help it is our duty to give it to you, child." He smiled at Bakura kindly, and left him to think about it, wonderingly. This was certainly not his home.


	3. Whispers

Whispers

Myrtle could feel a crick forming in her neck as she slumped over her dinner plate, picking at the mashed potatoes; trying to ignore the giggles that seemed to be closing in around her. She hated dinner; it was the most crowded meal and you could never sit far enough away from everyone else.

"I heard she got six feet wide."

"No, it was at least eight."

"I heard her pimples swell up too."

Myrtle could hear their whispered comments all up and down the Slytherin table; her blood began to creep up her pasty complexion.

"Wouldn't it have been cool if she popped?"

Tears began to well up in Myrtle eyes; mucus began to slip down her nose.

"I don't think that she lost all the air. I think she still looks a little pudgier."

"Pryor's always that fat."

Dropping her fork she tried, fruitlessly, to fight back the tears as she stepped stiffly out of the Great Hall; listening to her classmate's snickering following her. Glancing back at the open door, and at the covert glances some of her classmates were sending her; turning back, she let her feet wonder the halls, halls that were currently empty of any student life.

As her feet wandered, so did her mind; it fell upon the mystery of the youth in the hospital wing. His brown skin and blue eyes suggested a European Middle Eastern mix, which wasn't that odd. What was odd was that Myrtle had never seen him before, and he certainly didn't look eleven.

Unsurprisingly, a few minutes later Myrtle found herself right outside the infirmary. Hesitating only a second, she stepped quietly into the ward, and proceeded to tiptoe over to the enclosed bed; reaching forward she listened for any sign of Madame Brandon and heard nothing.

Pulling back the curtain she was confronted, by not a sleeping figure, but the boy leaning back on a tremendous pile of pillows and staring at the ceiling.

"Who are you?" In an instant his head had turned to face her, and was staring at her.

"Myrtle Pryor," she answered obediently, her knuckles turning white as she clutched at the curtain. Her answer, however, did not seem to satisfy him in the least, and frown lines creased his brow.

"I didn't mean your name." He continued, his voice taking on a frustrated edge. "I meant what I said. Who are you?"

"I am a third year Slytherin…" Myrtle mumbled in reply, unsure how to take his blazing directness and annoyance.

The boy let out a long sigh, his eyes moving from her face to the room beyond her. "You are a student at this… School?" Myrtle simply nodded, and an approving smile fluttered at the edges of his creased lips. "That will be all for now." A thoughtful expression creeping across his face, he lay back once more and continued to stare up at the ceiling.

None too soon either. A second later Myrtle heard steps clicking up the stairs; quickly dropping the sheet she stepped away from the bed, to the center of the room to face Madame Brandon.

"What is it dear?" The elderly healer looked rapidly from where Myrtle stood, to where the boy lay hidden, and back again.

"I felt like I might be inflating again…" Myrtle mumbled out the lie, uncomfortably aware of the secrecy that surrounded the boy.

"I assure you that you are completely back to normal." Madame Brandon chirped reassuringly, looking her quickly up and down, and offering an encouraging smile. "Why don't you get back to your common room, it's getting late and you must be tired."

At those words, Myrtle's body seemed to lag, as if all her exhaustion had finally caught up to her, and she still had an essay about Werewolves to write; she cringed inwardly at the idea of returning to her common room, but, under the watchful eyes of the healer she had little else to do but turn and leave.

Myrtle did decide in the end to return to her common room. She would have to someday and there was no need to get in trouble for not doing her homework, and being out past curfew, and still being ridiculed. Perhaps people will have better things to do; of course they didn't.

Sitting in the farthest, and darkest, corner of the already dark Slytherin common room other people's words were only a nagging whisper, and she was able to scribble out her essay in near solitude.

"What else could you expect from muggles?"

"They shouldn't let trash like her into the school."

"Did you hear about what happened today?"

"Pryor, what are you scribbling on about?" An all too familiar voice inquired, Olive Hornby's voice breaking into her silence.

"Nothing," Myrtle snapped back, shoving the parchment into her pocket wet ink, quill, and all, forcing it into a crumpled ball.

"Mud bloods always seem so flustered. Why don't you just run back to your ugly little muggle mommy?" Olive spat, glaring down at her; Myrtle tried to meet her eyes, but was blocked by angry tears.

Apparently satisfied to reduce Myrtle to tears Olive turned away. "You are so pathetic."

Pulling out her ruined paper, now barely legible, she curled into the corner; sitting there she sobbed until her eyes stung with dryness.

Now in a deserted common room, she copied her paper out again in near darkness, waiting on edge for someone to sneak up behind her. Finally, some time in early morning, she dropped into bed.

A/N Spare a review, please?

Just tell me what you think; I don't mind however short it is :)


	4. Wand

Wand

Although he had not gained any information that he could use at the moment Bakura was satisfied with the results of the girl's earlier visit. He had learned that the students were viewed with tolerance and treated with kindness, and that there was no penalty for wandering through the halls in ordinary situations. Even though there had been a chance that she would find him Madame Brandon hadn't disciplined her or told her off for being there.

Bakura looked down at the fading bruises on his arms, seeing their pale yellow color as yet another piece of evidence showing how powerful these mages were. Madame Brandon had performed yet another 'minor' healing spell on him today that had completely healed the gash in his side and soothed the bruises that had covered him to the point where he would have thought it had been almost a week since they were inflicted rather than a few days. What had really gotten to him was the fact that she then saw fit to apologize for not being able to heal him more quickly, explaining that his body had already been taxed by being pulled into different time periods and the healing that she had already performed, and that she didn't want to risk causing any damage.

Or course, he had immediately assured her that he was grateful enough for the care that he had received not to care about the fact that it would take him a week to heal rather than several months, but she still looked guilty every time she looked at him. Was she truly so powerful, he wondered, that the fact that she was unable to simply make him well bothered her so much? He himself was more worried by the fact that he was being kept a secret, even though he knew that someone had seen him.

The question of what it was that these strangers wanted from him wouldn't dislodge itself from his mind, and Bakura sighed, leaning back against the headboard and staring blankly at the white curtains that had been all he was able to see for the past day and a half. If he was going to be made a student here why was there any need to hide his presence, and if not why bother telling him the lie? He was sure that his inability to prevent them from doing as they wished with him had become apparent some time ago.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a man with a kind face and – again – glasses perched on his nose. The only one that he had seen so far that did not wear glasses was Madame Brandon, and although she had explained to him what the eye pieces were for it still seemed to be a very strange thing to wear, and he couldn't understand how they made the glass so clear. Magic, perhaps?

The new arrival appeared to be old but not so much so as Professor Dippet and Madame Brandon. He smiled at Bakura, eyes twinkling behind the eyeglasses that looked so strange on his wrinkled face. "I'm Professor Dumbledore, the Transfiguration teacher at this school, and Professor Dippet has asked me to take you out to get your things. To start with, however, you'll need some clothing. I've brought one of my old robes for you to wear until you can get new ones made so if you'll put it on while I turn my back we can be on our way."

He handed Bakura a pile of black fabric which, as Bakura unfolded it did indeed turn out to be a robe. It fit him well enough, actually, although the sleeves were a little long. Bakura hadn't quite finished growing, although he had noticed that he was still a more than average height, at least compared to the four people that he'd seen so far. When he stood, Dumbledore looked as though he were a few inches taller than Bakura was, while the others were also shorter than he, especially the girl, who made him feel quite tall and strong by comparison. Then again, most people he had seen here so far made him feel as though he were quite strong physically. They seemed to have concentrated on their magical powers to the complete exclusion of any physical exercise whatsoever.

Dressed, Bakura sat on the edge of the bed and watched Dumbledore curiously, waiting for him to take charge as he had said that he would. The man took his cue, pulling a small container of green powder from his pocket and took a handful before giving the pot of it to Bakura. "Do as I do," he instructed, walking over to fire. He threw his handful into the fire and walked into the now green flames, saying 'Diagon Alley,' in a loud voice. Blinking as the afterimages disappeared from his eyes, Bakura followed the man's example, pronouncing the strange words as clearly as possible since he knew that he had still not gotten the hang of pronouncing this new language.

Fortunately for him, when he walked out of the flames Dumbledore was waiting for him. "First of all we have to get you fitted for new robes," the mage began briskly. "For that we go to Madame Malkin's. It's a good shop, been in her family for generations. Everyone goes there, but since you're so late in the year she'll probably be able to take care of you now." His chatter filled the silence between them, which Bakura found to be annoying, but he didn't comment. If Dumbledore wanted to talk at him he could do so. It wasn't doing him any harm, after all.

The lady at Madame Malkin's measured him briskly, putting a new robe on him and pinning it up before taking it off again and sending him and Dumbledore on their way. She didn't speak, and he didn't feel any need to start a conversation, unlike Dumbledore who started talking about her store again as soon as they had left it. Bakura didn't pay any attention to what he was saying, simply following in his footsteps as he turned into the next shop.

This shop was a smaller, dark shop with stacks of long thin boxes along the walls. It gave Bakura the creeps to be honest, and the man who appeared out of the shadowy depths did nothing to reassure him. "Come for your wand, have you young sir?" he asked as Bakura resigned himself to being thought of as a child. It amazed him how very old people were here.

A long strip of cloth floated over to him and began measuring him in very odd places, such as the bridge of his nose. Bakura went cross-eyed trying to look at it as the man puttered around selecting boxes. Finally he came over to pull another of the thin sticks – wands – that the mages here carried and offered it to Bakura.

"Six inches, dragon heartstring, willow, quite whippy," he commented as Bakura took the wand and waved it abstractedly in the air. Nothing happened and the little man snatched it out of his hand, replacing it with another. This time there was a bang and something blew up, but the man didn't seem fazed, instead offering Bakura yet another wand. It seemed to take forever, but eventually Bakura accepted a wand that he knew instantly was the right one.

When he waved this wand hesitantly he could feel his powers being pulled into play. Without any intention of doing so, he found that he had summoned Diabound, whose massive form filled the shop, straining its ceiling and walls, and bright-colored sparks were falling around them both. A moment later his ka beast had vanished again, along with the colored bits of light and he was left staring around a suddenly empty shop.

"Ah, I thought that might suit you," the shopkeeper said with satisfaction. "Cedar wood, nine inches, with a phoenix feather core. Good for power, although not so easy a wand with which to achieve the delicate touch of the master wizard. Yes, yes," He was still muttering to himself as Bakura left the store under Dumbledore's wing and was gently steered back to Madame Malkin's, still clutching his newly acquired wand in one hand. The transaction had brought up yet another worry for him, and he decided to ask about it, not wanting the subject to come up later after he had no control over it.

"Who is paying for my things?" His inquiry seemed to startle Dumbledore, who turned around to look at him and smile again.

"And here I thought you'd lost your tongue. The school's paying for it of course. Not to worry, you won't be the first student who's not been able to pay for their own things, and you don't have to tell anyone that you've accepted the headmaster's charity." Bakura relaxed a little, although his fingers didn't loosen their grip on his wand. He'd been afraid that they'd make him pay for the things that they bought him later, and while he would rather work to earn money for this wand than give up the artifact that had so awakened his power, he did not feel the same way about the clothing that he was being bought. Clothing he could do without if he had to. Magic, on the other hand, was the only familiar thing he had left.


	5. Gone!

Gone!

Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes, Myrtle gazed around the deserted dorm. Apparently she had slept through all the girly squealing of her classmates as they compared outfits, makeup, and exchanged last night stories.

Rolling out of bed, Myrtle caught site of one of the other girl's clocks; it was late, really late, it was practically time for her next class. She really needed to get more sleep; not let people get to her like that.

Shaking off the tears of yesterday, she threw on the first rumpled uniform she came to, grabbed her bag, and ran up the stairs to the common room.

Thump, Myrtle found herself splayed across the common room floor, something having caught at her foot and tripped her.

"It looks like I've actually caught something." The grating voice of a certain Quintus Lestrange commented far over Myrtle's head, his rat like eyes gleaming down at her in the near darkness of the underground common room. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"I was just going." Myrtle mumbled, scrambling to her knees and recollecting her spilled books.

"I'd make you write my transformation paper that's due tomorrow." Quintus commented, pointing his wand lazily down at her. "But, I could never expect a filthy little half wit mud blood, like yourself to get it right; so…" He trailed off, and Myrtle climbed warily to her feet.

"I could have you carry my books to ancient runes." Quintus mussed. "It is sort of heavy." He finished, dropping his two ton bag of brick like textbooks on her back. "Follow."

The strap dug painfully into Myrtle's shoulder as she slumped after him; she would probably get a detention for being late to class, or at least points off, she had done her essay after all. What a rotten way for a rotten day to start; contemplating this, tears began to well up in her eyes.

"Hey, don't you dare get my bag wet with your gushing!" Quintus snapped, ripping his bag off her shoulder, her weeping exploding into a typhoon of tears. "Scat." Walking into his classroom, fashionably late, Quintus left Myrtle leaking all over the flagstones.

Turning slowly, Myrtle ran an already damp sleeve across her eyes, and walked slowly towards her own classroom; her class would be at least half late.

"Miss Pryor, You and I will discuss this after class." Professor Merrythought frowned across to Myrtle as soon as she set foot in the class; Myrtle sighed, there was no winning this, but, she had no more tears, so she simply slumped into the back desk.

Myrtle only attempted to pay attention for the next few seconds, but quickly gave up; there was no way for her to jump into the middle of the lesson and understand it. Instead, she began to doodle absently on the corner of her essay paper as she stared up at the ceiling.

"Slug, she's as lazy as she is stupid."

"Did you see her crying her eyes out in the common room last night?"

"I don't know how in the world she ever passes any of her classes."

Myrtle sniffed, her dry eyes attempting to water once more; she was a worthless cry baby.

Looking down at her paper, her eyes swimming with tears, she saw what she though might possibly be a pair of blue eyes framed in white hair; blinking, they disappeared, but it raised her spirits. No other student in the entire school knew about him, probably. He was hers.

"Miss Pryor, explain yourself." Myrtle looked up quickly to meet the Professor's eyes; looking around she realized that class was over, and that everyone else had already left.

"Here's the essay." Myrtle offered, holding up the scroll; which the women took, after sending her a sharp, questioning, look.

"Why were you late?"

"I over slept; I haven't been feeling well." Myrtle blurted out the half truth, the events of the morning flashing painfully through her memory. "Do you think I could go to the nurse?" She inquired, images of the strange youth filling her mind. He was her secret.

"If you do feel that ill," Professor Merrythought consented, looking down at her almost pityingly; Myrtle could almost hear her thoughts, 'oh, the poor little dear, they've been teasing her again and she just can't take it anymore. Why they let muggle children in, I will never know.'

Almost happy, Myrtle turned and walked quickly out of the classroom, unable to face her teacher any longer. Fairly running up the stairs she quickly reached the infirmary.

Her luck seemed in, since Madame Brandon was in her small office doing some paper work no doubt.

Tiptoeing across the open middle of the infirmary, it seemed to take forever 'till she was at the curtain. Reaching forward, she pulled it back, only to reveal a neatly made hospital bed; it was empty.

Shocked, Myrtle turned and fled, pelting to her next class, transfiguration; in this class Professor Dumbledore only looked up one second before he returned to his lesson on transforming tea bags into plants. Having only missed the first ten minutes Myrtle was able to follow him, and was able to turn her tea bag into a plant after her first few dozen attempts.

The thought of the boy, however, dragged down on her as the day continued. She would go back tomorrow; perhaps he had only needed to go do something. He obviously was important, and important people were always going places.


	6. Slugs

Slugs

It was evening by the time Professor Dippet was finished with him and turned him over to someone who he introduced as Professor Slughorn, the head of the House that he was being put in. Bakura obediently followed the jovial, overweight, professor to the common room, watching the other's disapproving back as he walked. The man was obviously unhappy with having an older student join as a first year, thinking that it was due to some mental deficiency and not to a lack of schooling as was in fact the case.

Coming to the entry in the dungeons, the professor looked back at him. "There is a password you must know to get into the Slytherin common room. Listen closely and try to remember this password. If you give out the password to anyone in anther house the penalty will be severe." Bakura nodded, not really too concerned with the threat, concentrating more on trying to figure out how to trigger the release mechanism of the door which was rather badly hidden behind a section of the wall. He could just use the password that Slughorn had mentioned, of course, but it was always better to have a backup plan just in case.

"Veritaserum." Slughorn said in what Bakura thought was an overly dramatic tone. It wasn't as though the door wasn't easy to see. Honestly didn't mages in these days give any thought to _anything_ other than magic?

Entering the room, Bakura found himself confronted with a sea of curious faces watching him and the professor. Professor Slughorn beamed around at the class, giving an especially wide smile to a tall, handsome youth with dark hair and a secretive air about him. "This is a new student who's come to join us." He declared, refraining from patting Bakura on the shoulder only because that would have made even more obvious the height disparity between them. "Dippet hasn't told me much, but it seems this is his first encounter with the world of wizardry so he's being put in with the first years despite his advanced age." Glances were exchanged, and Bakura knew that he was going to be the target of several would-be thugs, but he felt sure that he could handle them. There was a ban on using offensive magic, after all, so if they did so he would be able to retaliate in kind, with Diabound.

"Now remember," Slughorn cautioned, apparently having noticed the looks. "We Slytherins have to keep up a united front. Whatever you may feel, it stays inside the common room." He smiled at them again, trying to lessen the sting of his words, and Bakura felt his face twist into a sneer that he hid by bowing his head so that his hair covered his face. There was nothing to gain by alienating a teacher, no matter how stupid he was.

When the man had left, Bakura looked up and around at the gathered crowd with open disdain. It had only taken him a moment to size up the general quality of people in the common room, and the hat's words lingered in his mind. _Slytherin is the house for people with ambition, people who want to put themselves first. You should fit in well, boy, as soon as you look into your future rather than your past._ It had been an odd thing to say, he had thought at the time, especially for an item with the ability to read minds. He knew that the past was gone. The Items had been destroyed, and he needed to find a new life here and excel in it.

He wouldn't do anything now, however. The professors already had their eye on him; he didn't want their watchfulness to turn into anything more serious. Instead of making a move to dominate as he would have back home, Bakura simply smirked and walked right past the assembled thugs into the corner where he had seen a familiar face.

"Myrtle Pryor, correct?" If he had her name wrong then it was just too bad, but if he had remembered correctly it would be a point in his favor immediately.

The girl nodded, flushing and glancing behind him at the people who he could hear whispering behind him about losers staying together. "Yes. I'm Myrtle. And – and you are?" She was stammering in her embarrassment, and Bakura could tell that the negative regard was getting to her.

"Bakura." He said his name flatly, then shrugged at her downcast look. "I do not have another name, although you do not have to tell anyone that." The glare that he sent over his shoulder at the watching people made them look away, some moving further away from him, although he knew that he had spoken quietly enough that no one else would have been able to hear him without magical aid.

Sick of feeling eyes on him, Bakura stood. "Perhaps we will talk later." He wanted to make sure that she wouldn't tell anyone else what she had seen, but he had the feeling that she'd keep her mouth shut – at least for now. If they ever had a chance to talk in private he'd bring it up; if not, it didn't really matter. The secret would come out sometime. He'd just rather it was after he'd settled in a little.

Following the instructions that he had been given, Bakura found the room that had been prepared for him – a room of his own because of his age and the fact that the headmaster didn't want him corrupting the little children. His books and the robes that had been bought for him were already there, along with notes from each of the teachers saying what he needed to read to catch up to the rest of the class. Bakura picked up the first of the books with reverent hands and opened it, still only half-believing that he'd really be able to read the writing.

As Dippet had promised, however, Bakura could understand the written words as well as he had been able to understand the strange speech that people here employed. After closing his eyes for a moment to relish the thought that he was now able to read just as a scribe could, Bakura began to read the pages that he had been assigned.


	7. Breakfast

Breakfast

Watching his retreating back, Myrtle felt almost giddy. She had made an idiot of herself, stammering so much, but it wasn't like someone talked to her just any day; it wasn't just any someone… For now he was gone again, but, she knew now that he was a student.

Finally, looking up and around, Myrtle realized she hadn't moved a muscle since Bakura had left. What a strange name that was, and he said he had no last name, peculiar. Shaking her head violently to clear it, she beat her own retreat up to her bed and sleep.

"The oddballs would know each other."

"He doesn't look like any pure blood family I know of."

"Dirt knows dirt."

"I wonder who he is."

"He doesn't matter; you are supposed to be helping me on this potions essay."

The whispers were slightly different tonight; a hint of confusion marred their aloofness. This, in some odd way, warmed Myrtle; that night, she dreamed of her family.

The next morning Myrtle awoke on time; to the sounds of her classmates primping, gossiping, and giggling.

"Never came back up."

"Where do you think he came from?"

"Did you see how arrogant he was last night?"

"And he only talked to her."

Myrtle was in the act of swinging her legs out of bed when everyone froze to stare at her. Looking up at the hush, she was met by a wall of eyes; immediately the blood rose to her cheeks. What had she done now? Was there a giant pimple on the end of her nose? She hadn't been paying that much attention to the bubble of vocalizations around her.

The next minute seemed to drag out an eternity as Myrtle felt their eyes on her as she rummaged through her trunk, pulling out her only unwrinkled uniform, but, as suddenly as it had stopped, the babble began again; Myrtle relaxed.

Grabbing her books quickly, she walked hurriedly up the stairs, not running like yesterday; she did not want a repeat of that incident. When would she get to see Bakura again?

"Watch where you are going!" Myrtle had lost track of her surroundings and sent someone sprawling up the stair; looking down she gasped, that person was Bakura.

"Oh, I am so so so so so so so so very sorry." Myrtle practically wailed out; automatically reaching for his arm and yanking him back up again.

"Girl," Bakura exclaimed, wrenching his arm out of her grasp. "Be silent!" Myrtle immediately obeyed, flushing out of agitation and embracement.

"I am just so very sorry." Myrtle added after a moment's silence, her agitation getting the better of her.

"Obviously," Bakura commented absently; reaching down to pick up his own bag of textbooks, he hoisted it onto his back purposefully. "In penance I am requiring you to tell where I am supposed to be at the moment."

"The Great Hall to eat breakfast," Myrtle replied, walking up a few more steps to look back at him. "Everyone does." She added, seeing his brows knit in deep thought. "I can show you." She finished, almost bashfully.

"Okay." Bakura shrugged, and following her as she made her way up the rest of the stairs; past various gaggles of students spread across the common room.

As they walked along the silence stretched out, painfully long in Myrtle's view; she didn't think it worth it, however, to risk offense to the single person who wasn't making fun of her at the moment, and so she didn't say anything at all.

Breakfast was a strange affair for her; she couldn't remember more then a handful of meals that she actually ate with another person. Not that he was very good company, but that hair… His strangeness intrigued Myrtle.

"The moan has a friend?"

"They're eating together."

"He doesn't look as dirty as her, but you can never tell with mud bloods."

"Where are you from?" Myrtle finally asked, trying to block out the whispers that were closing in on what was one of the happiest moment she had had in a while.

It took a moment for him to reply, and when he did it was very apprehensive "Kemet." Myrtle, though his answer was far less then satisfactory, let it drop, thinking she could look it up later in the library.

"Why are you here?" Myrtle continued to pry, becoming braver as he continued to answer her questions.

"To be a student," Bakura replied simply, his voice sending the explicit answer that that would be all for now. "Where, exactly, is first year History of Magic?"

"You have that first thing in the morning? I pity you." Myrtle noticed she was getting almost chatty, but figured she might as well seize the chance; sooner, rather then later, he would figure out what a stupid, horrible, and unattractive individual she really was in comparison with the rest of the student body of Hogwarts.

"Where is it?" Bakura pushed, seemingly uninterested in her sympathies.

"Fourth floor corridor, third door on the right," Myrtle obliged, only slightly put out by his rebuff.

"Bye." Standing up, Bakura walked away.

Staring at his back, Myrtle wondered what had happened. This was so foreign to her past two years of school; overwhelming was an understatement.

"Why is he in the first year class anyway?"

"How old is he?"

"What does he see in her?"

Alone again, there was no reason to remain with her cooling bacon. Getting up she went to her own class.


	8. Anger

Anger

Myrtle took the seat next to Bakura's at lunch. He hadn't been expecting her, but the look on her face was so hopeful and eager that he didn't have the heart to tell her to go away. Instead he took a plateful of some type of bird and a piece of bread, tacitly accepting her presence.

The meat was perfect, tender and juicy and everything that he'd not been able to have except on feast days. Meat seemed to be so common here. These people didn't understand just how lucky they were. They had warm clothing, huge amounts of food available at any time they wanted, and they were being taught magic by some of the most powerful mages he had seen. Bakura smiled around the fork that he handled awkwardly as he saw others around him doing. This was an amazing opportunity and he thought that he was beginning to understand what the hat had meant about looking to the future. If he could learn all of this, what else might he be able to do?

Both of the classes that he had taken so far today had been interesting to him, although the first class, History of Magic, had been presented in a dull way and he had seen that most of his classmates had fallen asleep, the rivalry that had been obvious as they filed into seats quickly vanishing into somnolence as the teacher spoke. Professor Bins did indeed have a very monotonous voice with none of the emotion that generally made a speaker interesting to listen to, but the subject was more than enough to hold Bakura's attention. Learning about the history of this world that was so far in the future to him was so interesting that he had been able to immerse himself in learning despite the teacher's deficiencies.

Smirking as he finished his lunch, Bakura looked over at the mousy girl sitting next to him and thought that this was yet another difference between this place and his home. In Kemet she would have been married if she had not been a criminal like he was, and her softness was enough to tell him that she could not have been that. He didn't understand why she seemed to feel as though she needed to hide from her classmates, but that weakness showed why she had been chosen as the target.

"Why does everyone have to buy those ridiculous hats if they are not going to make us wear them?" Bakura's question sounded abrupt in the silence, but Myrtle looked up at him and smiled, happiness spreading over her face like sunshine and transforming her rather homely face into something almost pretty.

"It's because they're used for special ceremonies," she explained cheerfully, seeming to blossom under even the negligible amount of attention he paid her. "At the end of the year, for instance, everyone has to wear the hats for the ceremony where the House Cup is awarded."

Bakura nodded and asked his next question, the one that her comment had brought up. "What exactly is the House Cup, anyway? I have heard people talking about points, but I never really got an explanation." There wasn't really been anyone else that he felt comfortable asking. Professor Dippet had his duties a headmaster to fulfill which meant that he wasn't available most of the time, healers were much too important to be bothered with such minor question, and Professor Dumbledore made him nervous. Those twinkling eyes seemed to see much more than Bakura wanted him to. As for Professor Slughorn, his head of house, Bakura wasn't willing to spend any more time in his company than was absolutely necessary.

"The House Cup is given to the House with the highest amount of points. Points can be added or deducted by the Head boy or Girl, or by teachers. Generally points are given out for doing exceptionally well at something whereas every time you misbehave points are deducted. It encourages people to behave, or at least to try their hardest to hide it when they don't." Myrtle was grinning, caught up in her description. "It's been years since Slytherin has won it since mostly our House is too caught up in the rivalry against Gryffindor to stay out of trouble, but at least it's mostly Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff that wins since we've managed to discredit Gryffindor along with our own House. I don't think anyone could stand it if the Gryffindors won the House Cup."

Bakura chuckled at her enthusiasm. "It sounds as though this is really a big thing here," he commented lightly, wondering how simple the youth here must be if such a small thing was so important to them.

"It is." Myrtle agreed, glancing at the banners decorating the walls of the Great Hall. "The rivalries between the Houses, especially Slytherin and Gryffindor, mean that no matter what there's going to be competition so every chance they get people try to one-up their rival House." Bakura nodded. He wondered how much of that animosity was carried on after they had left the school, but he had already asked enough questions. To ask more would be like inviting her to think that he was weak, and it was never good to let anyone else see that you were not as strong as you wished to appear, no matter how unimportant they seemed.

It was too late, however. Myrtle asked one of the questions that he had wished to avoid having to answer. At least, he thought glumly, it was unlikely that anyone else was listening. "How come you don't know all this stuff already?"

Bakura sighed and gave the cover story that Professor Dippet had manufactured for him. He would have preferred to make up his own, one that didn't make him seem so much of a child, but the professor had been adamant, and Bakura had given in. "I grew up in one of the countries too underdeveloped to have a wizarding school. When the orphanage at which I stayed closed, I was sent to England with some of the other children and the Ministry found me. They were worried that I would not be able to learn coming in so late so they arranged for me to be sent here as Hogwarts is known as the best school both in the country and out of it."

"You're an orphan?" Myrtle blurted the words, then covered her mouth with her hands, face reddening. Bakura could see the pity in her eyes and snarled, anger changing his face for a moment into a mask of fury. He needed no one's pity.

Seeing the fear that appeared on Myrtle's face, however, Bakura sighed, anger draining away. "It is all right. I just get angry when I think about how they were killed because of that senseless war." He looked away for a moment, then turned back to her. "I do not want to talk about it." He'd never talked about his parents anyway, but here he was afraid that if he did so he might slip up and let the secret out.

Bakura only stayed a few more seconds at the table before rising and heading back out into the halls. He'd seen the Transfiguration classroom earlier, so he headed off to the class, putting thoughts of his dead village out of his mind. It was over. His people had been avenged, and although he had not been the instrument of that vengeance he could now leave that behind him without thinking of their cries.


	9. Renewed Tears

Renewed Tears

It would have seemed simple to anyone else, but not to Myrtle. The single fact that Bakura did not avoid her like a plague, or simply tease her, meant everything to the young girl. She knew it was too good to last, but the whispers of the other students seemed all the quieter since she had met him.

"You, girl!" Myrtle instinctively turned at the beckoning, and was surprised to be met by a taller girl with long blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile.

"Yes?" Myrtle froze in her tracks, eyes locked on the figure before her that, she surmised, was somewhere around fourth or fifth year.

"What is your name?" The girl was now only a foot away from Myrtle, her face still openly friendly, but her tone demeaning enough, as if she were speaking with a first year, that it rubbed Myrtle's skin the wrong way.

"Myrtle Pryor," Myrtle hesitated, wondering what it was she really wanted, because it certainly wasn't her.

"And I am Diana Rosmerta." The girl replied, not seeming to notice Myrtle's hesitance. "It was lovely meeting you, but, I was wondering if you could tell me the name of the boy you ate lunch with."

Well, she had finally cut to the chase, and if it was only that Myrtle at least had nothing humiliating to fear from her, but, she still didn't want to tell her. Then again, knowing his name wouldn't do anything, would it? But she was so much prettier then she was; she was being childish. "Bakura," Myrtle replied simply, turning away to go to her next class.

"And, not to seem so obvious, but," taking a few steps to catch up with Myrtle, and actually caught up her arm. "There is anything between you two is there?"

The blood came to Myrtle's cheeks, but she shook her head determinedly. There was nothing between them, but Myrtle's interest, and his lack of knowledge, and that was about to dissolve anyway, at least for him…

"Thank-you," and with a last flash of a smile, and those vibrant eyes, she was gone again.

Well, that had effectively downed her for the rest of her life; with a final sigh her entire body drooped back to its normal slouch as she turned back to her classroom.

"Diana just wanted to know about the new boy."

"I heard she hasn't been able to keep her eyes off of him."

"Curves like hers, he's so lucky."

"Oh, doesn't fat old Pryor look upset."

"She'll be bawling in a minute."

A single tear did start down her cheek, and her nose began to fill; sniffing, it fell to the ground.

They were supposed to be vanishing spoons, but no matter how Myrtle tried, the most she did was to melt one to the desk.

Moving to pick up her bag, all the contents fell through the bottom. From somewhere she heard giggles; the tears came again.

"No need to cry over spilled milk." Professor Dumbledore moved to pick up Myrtle's bag; offering her a comforting smile, he handed her bag to her in one piece. "I must also thank you for how you've been helping Bakura. It is a rather odd situation, and you've been a tremendous help."

"You're welcome." Myrtle sniffled, rubbing the back of her hand across her face; blushing ever so slightly, she walked out of the classroom, to dinner.

"She cried all through transfiguration."

"She's always crying."

"She didn't yesterday…"

Looking up and down the Slytherin table Myrtle spotted Bakura, but images of Rosmerta flashed through her mind, and she moved towards the other end of the table; only a few feet closer to the rest of the house then she was used to, but, if she was going to have to give him up anyway…

Picking at her pudding, she watched as water dripped into her food, hardly aware she was crying; as soon as she did, she dropped her fork and, jumping off the bench, she walked out two thirds through dinner; as soon as she was out of the Great Hall she broke into a run, all the way up to the second floor lavatory. Slamming the cubicle door shut she let loose the flood.

"Ran out of dinner crying,"

"I keep telling you, she is just a hose when it comes to crying."

"Emotional little chit isn't she?"

"Look at how red her eyes are."

Myrtle was greeted by a barrage of whispers when she finally did return to her common room, her head and eyes throbbing; the only thing to look forward to, a pile of homework.

"Does the moan have a crush?" Hornby lost no time to walk up behind Myrtle, and jab her in the back.

"Why would you think that?" Myrtle spat, whirling around to face her adversary. Bakura had been her secret, and now he was a public spectacle; slipping from her grasp.

"Did you two have a fight? You didn't eat together."

"No." It was the only word Myrtle could force out past the tears that stubbornly were forming at the corners of her eyes, and clogging her throat.

"Broke your heart did he? Well, even he's too good for you." Horby finished, shrugging, and walked away.

To hell with all her homework! Myrtle walked slowly to the stairs, planning on going to bed right away, her eyes swimming with tears. Half way down, however, a misstep landed her bottom firmly on the stairs; there would surly be a bruise in the morning. Staying there, she cursed whatever had ill fated her to this life, silent tears flowing freely down her face in the dark.


	10. Feeding the Rumor Mill

Feeding the Rumor Mill

Coming into the common room Bakura was startled by the sound of stifled sobs and the fact that everyone seemed to be ignoring them. Shrugging, he headed towards the source of the noise, wanting to at least find out who it was that was crying. Halfway down one of the two sets of stairs that led to the dorms Bakura found his answer.

Myrtle was lying where she had fallen, sobbing miserably against the hard stone of the steps. Bakura watched her for a moment before sitting down on the steps and opening the book he had been studying for his Astronomy class Monday night and beginning to read. It was only a few minutes before the noises stopped and Bakura stopped reading, letting the book rest on his lap as he looked down at Myrtle, who had stopped crying and was looking up at him, wiping her eyes with her hands.

"Bakura?" Her voice was hoarse from crying, and it broke in the middle of the word, but it was an improvement.

"Myrtle." Bakura's response was cool, distant. "Is there a reason why you are crying your eyes out on the steps? It can not possibly be comfortable."

Myrtle went beet red and looked down, avoiding his eyes. "It's nothing, just… something someone said to me." She wasn't quite lying, but he didn't believe that she was telling the whole truth either. Then again, what had he told her that wasn't a lie?

"Forget it then if it is nothing." Bakura stood. "I am going to bed."

Ignoring the girl he did as he had said, ascending the steps and going to his room to lie on his bed and finish reading his assignment before falling asleep.

The next day he woke and was out of the common room before any of the other students were up. He'd seen some of the castle trying to get to his classes yesterday, but today he wanted to find out more and to get the layout fixed in his mind. It was a strange place, built almost like some of the tombs he had been in but on an even greater scale than the largest of the great mausoleums.

There were secret doors everywhere, and Bakura made note of them in the back of his mind for further exploration later. This time he intended to stick to finding out the basic layout of the building. He'd have time another day for a more detailed exploration, but for now he simply wanted to make sure that he would not get lost in the castle – not that such a situation was likely, but it was possible.

The people in the painting that hung on the walls were sleeping as he started out, although a few of them roused as he passed to complain of the time. It was late enough by the time that he had finished his explorations, however, that most of the pictures were awake and ready to talk. One of the older men on the upper, less populated, floors caught his attention for a while reminiscing about the secret passages, but when he started to repeat himself Bakura made his excuses and left.

In the end he was one of the last people to enter the Great Hall, although he was rather more awake than the other stragglers who filtered in. Without really thinking about it, Bakura took the seat next to Myrtle and began to eat, paying no attention to her incredulous glances. There were a number of people staring at him today and he supposed that the gossip about him had now reached through the school, but strangely enough not all of the looks seemed to be disdainful or disbelieving. In particular there was one pair of very blue eyes that seemed to follow his every move.

The stares made him uncomfortable, but he refused to show it, instead eating his fill in silence and leaving to get his books. Even though today was one of the days they did not have classes Bakura still needed to study so that he could catch up with the other students so he took his things to the library and took a seat in the corner. The information contained in the books was fascinating, but Bakura still found simply being able to read even more so. It was as though he were a noble rather than a peasant and a thief.

Bakura hadn't been reading for more than an hour before he was interrupted by a pleasant voice. "You're Bakura, right? The new boy everyone's talking about?" It was the same girl who had been watching him at breakfast.

"I am that," he responded mildly, looking up at her with raised brows. He wasn't stupid. He knew what she had come here for, although he was more than a little surprised that the fact that he was a first-year student hadn't scared her away. "And you would be?"

She smiled at him, a charming, flirtatious smile, and took a seat, tossing golden hair out of her way with a practiced flip of her hand, deliberately calling attention to the trait. "I'm Diane. You've turned the school on its ears, do you know that? Everyone wants to know who the new first year is, but no one seems to have heard anything." She giggled, an odd, high-pitched noise that he disliked instantly, and gave him that smile again. "Really, you are an interesting boy."

"So I am," Bakura returned, picking up his book again. The girl had a pretty face, but she was so strange, so unlike the girls that he had flirted with at home that he wasn't interested in playing the game. It was then that he realised part of the reason why he continued to make use of Myrtle when there were others who would do just as well. The girl's dark hair and eyes reminded him of home, and there was little enough that could do that in this unfamiliar place. "I intend to stay that way."

Diane gave another one of her irritating giggles and smiled at him in a way that was calculated to dazzle. "Oh come now, don't be so cold. Surely you don't want to be a mystery forever."

Seeing that she wasn't taking the hint, Bakura cooled his expression still further, adding a thin layer of ice to his words. "And if I do what business is it of yours? Not only do I not know you, but I believe that your House and mine are antagonists." Rising and hefting his bag lightly, he gave her an annoyed look. "I bid you good day."


	11. Denial

Denial

'Well, at least he isn't leaving you behind yet… Right?' Myrtle didn't know what to feel; didn't know if Rosmerta had gotten to him yet or not, which all added up to a tormenting lump that tore up her insides like a rampaging unicorn. He hadn't talked at all, but he had sat with her; there was last night.

'You're just imagining things Myrtle; you're not worth anything, remember!' Myrtle dashed away the angry tears that had been sneaking out of her eyes since this internal monolog had begun. Ogling boys won't make you any happier, and it won't get you anywhere in life! The homework she should have done last night, however, would get her somewhere in life; so, that's what she should be thinking about.

Getting up from breakfast Myrtle set out to complete her mission. Her footsteps reverberating through the halls as she purposefully stalked back to the Slytherin common room, the third year girl's dorm, and her homework. Surprisingly, no one stopped her, but, then again, all they could think about was Bakura; she wasn't going to spare him a thought.

Protected by the dark confines of her dorm, she let herself relax. On Saturdays, at the very least, this room was practically a safe haven, what with everyone else out and about, socializing; only she, the pimply little worm, was hiding in their dorm, doing homework.

Twenty minutes hard studying later, however, Myrtle hit a dead end. Where was her Herbology textbook? And all her searching, through her trunk and even under her bed, was fruitless; it had, no doubt, been stolen. She could always look up the information she needed for her mandrake essay in the library, but, there were people their; another five minutes of searching for something else to do only turned up an essay on Bogart that she would, most defiantly, need to do some research for. Well, there was nothing else for it.

That was how, roughly twenty-nine minutes after she had left from breakfast Myrtle found herself in the library, hearing all too familiar voice in conversation.

"Oh come now, don't be so cold. Surely you don't want to be a mystery forever."

"And if I do what business is it of yours? Not only do I not know you, but I believe that your House and mine are antagonists. I bid you good day," and Bakura appeared, his back to Myrtle, walking away from her and out of the library; a rather miffed looking Diana Rosmerta pouted her own way out a few minutes later.

A few minutes of silence passed before Myrtle dared to breathe. Even if he hadn't meant it that way, he had sealed himself as her secret, and her secret alone. The thought sent a foreign shiver down her spine. How much better did he treat her though…

Anyway, she had come to the library to stop thinking about that boy, not to start all over again; just because he had turned down the first dumb blond that came on to him, didn't mean he had any sort of feelings for her.

Finally focusing on her hand again, she realized she had been in the middle of pulling out the book she needed for Herbology, and was still simply standing there holding the spine of the book. Pulling it out violently, she settled down to some serious essay writing.

By the time she felt his shadow creeping over her, she had moved on to the Bogart essay.

"I wonder if you would do a favor for me?" Myrtle turned at the sound, and was faced with the towering figure of Quintus, standing over her. "You see, I need someone to haul my books around for me again, and, for some reason, your face was the first to come to mind." He finished, leering down at her.

Myrtle sat there, speechless, for a few seconds; apparently the youth took that has her saying she wouldn't, and leaned in even closer.

"I heard a rumor that you enjoyed the idea of being a human balloon." Quintus began, his voice lowering several threatening octaves. "And, just look at the heights that you could reach in here." He finished, pointing up at the ceiling oh so high above.

Myrtle gulped; heights made her nervous. "Sure." She quickly agreed.

"I knew I could count on you." He handed over his bag, currently only filled with a few books, and beckoned for him to follow him.

Over what seemed to be the next eternity Quintus lead her on a harebrained journey all across the library, adding heavy tomes at every turn; putting some back after a couple rounds of the library.

"That should be all, it's an hour 'till lunch; I must be going." Quintus, finally finished, pushed her away quickly. "We should do this again some time." He added maliciously as he walked out of the library, his bag floating behind him.

A few very choice names went through Myrtle's head, but there was no use voicing them; second to the Riddle boy, Quintus Lestrange was a prince of Slytherin, and she was the scum on the bottom of his shoe.

Myrtle wasn't surprised when, however, her essay parchment began to be dotted with dampness. She hated her life.

The deep dongs of the school clock reverberated through the library as Myrtle wrote the final sentence of her Bogart essay; she was ten minutes late for lunch, and every part of her was aching.

Standing, she stretched, trying to uncramp her muscles that had been practically motionless for an entire hour. Only partially successful, the trip down to the Great Hall was painful enough.

Looking down to the other end of the table, she saw Bakura was seated there, as usual, alone, but, she also noticed that that end of the rest of the tables was conspicuously fuller then usual. Sighing, she walked down to sit across from him, unsure of what to expect.

Dropping her bag, she served herself a good helping of corn and stuffing; finally, she looked up, at him. "So, how was your morning?"


	12. History

History

Bakura blinked at the girl. How inane could a question be? After a moment, however, he granted her the favor of assuming that she was simply trying to be polite and answered her question after swallowing his mouthful of figs and honey.

"The day has gone well enough. I managed to get some studying done despite interruptions. Now." Suddenly serious, Bakura fixed Myrtle with a piercing stare. "You asked me about my history and I answered. I think it is only fair that you respond in kind." If he was indeed going to be spending more time with this girl he wanted to know more about her.

"All right." Myrtle went red – as she often did – and began. "My parents are muggles: people without any magic. I grew up just like any other kid, going to an ordinary school, being teased by my brother, going places with my family." She smiled at the memory, eyes gone dreamily happy, and Bakura felt a stab of envy at the fact that she still had her parents – an emotion he tried quickly to suppress.

"Then on my eleventh birthday I received a letter telling me that I was a witch and inviting me to Hogwarts. It was like a dream. Discovering that magic was real and that I could really perform it was wonderful. I learned basic spells quickly, and soon I was able to show my parents how much I'd learned." Her smiled faded. "That didn't last, though. First I received a letter telling me that it was illegal for a minor to perform magic without wizardly supervision. That was all right, though. It just made me more eager to get to Hogwarts where I would truly be able to learn about and use magic. Once I got here, however, things started going downhill.

"Here I was a girl from a family of muggles, an ordinary, ugly girl who didn't really fit into Slytherin. You probably haven't noticed, but Slytherins on the whole are very concerned with the whole idea of pure blood. If you haven't come from a family who can trace their wizardry back through generations you're looked down on, and if neither of your parents are wizards, well, that's even worse. If you come from a muggle family then you're a mudblood, a useless person who should never have been put into the school, let alone the House of Slytherin."

Brows rose. "So that's where you are now. Magic is a wondrous thing but people are not nearly so accepting." He nodded and fingered his hair, offering her a smile. "I have had the same problem for different reasons. It is annoying, but after a while it becomes easy to ignore or to find other ways of dealing with. Those who make it their business to find the weaknesses of others are generally careless of their own." He knew that his smile wasn't pleasant, but for a moment he didn't care. Then the moment had passed and he forced his face into more normal lines.

Myrtle was staring at him wonderingly. "I couldn't – I can't ignore them. They don't let me ignore them." She looked at her plate for several moments before lifting her head to stare him in the eyes. "That was why I first saw you. One of them had performed a spell on me and I had to go to the infirmary to have it undone." She didn't say anything more about it, but Bakura considered that she had made her point. The girl had, however, missed one important thing.

"I did say that if it was impossible to ignore people like that it would be necessary to deal with them. You should study defensive spells." He left her with that thought as he went back to study. It was hard to believe it, but he was actually beginning to get used to the idea of being able to read.

Whispers and stares followed him as he made his way to the library, and once there he opened a book and stared at it, not reading, simply listening to what was being said about him. It was about what he had expected. They were saying that he was the first boy who had ever dumped Diane Rosmerta, that he had tried to come onto her and she had refused him, that he was still a first-year because he was too stupid to pass, and other things of that sort. As usual, they had speculated completely wrongly and not even managed to keep the one part that had really happened straight.

Shaking his head, Bakura returned to his book, forgetting all about them as he read about different spells and practiced casting a few of them in the back of the room. It wouldn't be long before people forgot about him. This kind of interest couldn't last for long without something substantial to sustain it, and Myrtle was the only one who knew any of that.

When he came to the table for dinner that night he noticed that the far end of the Slytherin table was now as fully occupied as the rest, and rolled his eyes as he took his usual seat. Some people's curiosity knew no bounds. As he was unwilling to give them any more gossip fodder, Bakura didn't say anything about himself, although he knew that even with what he had told her Myrtle was as curious as everyone else. "People are very stupid, aren't they?"


	13. Spilled Ink

Spilled Ink

Two weeks into his stay at Hogwarts Bakura was given his first writing assignment. Since he now knew how to read and how to recognise the letters of words, the teen thought that it would be easy enough to write after he had decided what he wanted to say so that he wouldn't waste precious materials. After ruining twenty sheets of parchment, Bakura finally managed to write the title. When his second sentence produced only another spreading inkblot, however, he gave up and went to ask Professor Dumbledore for help.

Although the man was strange and rather unnerving, Bakura thought that it would be easier to approach him than Professor Dippet or, Ra forbid, Professor Slughorn. At least Dumbledore never looked at him as though he were stupid, although the man's insight provided it's own set of problems. Still, he should be safe enough on this errand.

Navigating the hallways easily, Bakura found Professor Dumbledore in his rooms and quickly explained that he didn't seem to be able to get the hang of using a quill. Sure enough, the professor was only too glad to help, hunting down a quill that would write for him as long as he dictated. After that it was easy to finish his essay, but Bakura wasn't content with acting like an illiterate peasant so he did what he had learned that he could do whenever he needed to. He went to Myrtle for help.

Of course, he didn't tell her why it was that he didn't know how to use a pen. He simply padded into the library corner where she sat and scribbled, bringing along his quill, a pot of ink, and a blanket that was black enough not to show ink spots if he messed up that badly. It was one thing to ruin parchment, and another thing entirely to spill ink on the library floor. After all, parchment, as Professor Dumbledore had told him when he had placed the papers on the man's desk for inspection, could be replaced without any problem. It was much easier to create here than it had been in Kemet.

While Myrtle continued trying towrite, frequently interrupting her work to glance over at him, Bakura laboriously traced his own name over and over again, forcing his fingers to take the same position on his quill as Myrtle's and attempting to make his writing legible and neat while his thoughts turned to other matters. He couldn't think of an answer to the question that had been bothering him, so he asked Myrtle something that was close enough to the heart of the matter that it would help him.

"What do you think makes someone evil?"

There was a long pause as Myrtle stared at him. He couldn't blame her. The question had been asked completely out of context, without any warning, and he hadn't really expected her to answer him immediately anyway. After several minutes had passed, however, Myrtle found her tongue. "I suppose that the easiest definition of an evil person is someone who enjoys the pain of others. I mean, there are good wizards who have killed people and bad ones who haven't, but I think that an evil person is someone who does things to hurt other people because they enjoy seeing people in pain." She frowned, and set down her pen with a decisive movement. "Then again, I know that a lot of rulers have been called evil because they simply ignore other people's pain in order to further their own goals. Is this something important?"

Bakura considered his answer, but decided that he could trust her on this one anyway. She certainly hadn't done anything to make him mistrust her, and there wasn't anything that he had told her that he'd heard others talking about so he assumed that she could keep a secret well enough even when it wasn't presented as one. "It's important to me, personally," he clarified. "I haven't been given an assignment on it or anything, but the question means a lot to me." It would be a long time before he felt ready to tell her why, but the fact that he felt safe telling her this much meant more than he was willing to share.

"All right." Myrtle stood, leaving her things where they were. "Wait just a minute and I'll get a dictionary."

When the girl came back she was carrying not one but two heavy books. Bakura laughed and relieved her of them before she could fall over, abandoning his work for a moment in order to take the books from his friend. Myrtle blushed and muttered something about how he didn't have to help her as she sat down before taking the books back and settling them on her knee, opening each of them and finding her place.

"All right," she began taking the larger of the two books. "The encyclopedia says that 'evil' is the bad things that people do - specifically things that have to do with destruction, killing, and causing harm to other people." Closing the book and setting it aside, Myrtle turned to the second book. "The dictionary, on the other hand, has three definitions. Firstly evil means tending towards mischief, and apparently it also means worthless. The second definition is of evil as having 'bad' moral qualities, which really doesn't tell you anything, or being wicked or wrong. It's the last definition that is the most useful, presenting evil as something that creates unhappiness, injury, or trouble." The girl looked up at him hopefully. "I'm not sure, does that help at all?"

Bakura gave her a slightly twisted smile. "A little. I need to think about it." Her words had certainly given him something to think about - something more than he really wanted to think about, but at least they had brought him a little closer to a resolution. He'd given her enough warning, he decided, so he took his things and stood up, pausing to look down at her and smile. "Thanks Myrtle."


	14. Broken

Broken

Myrtle let herself smile, ever so slightly, at Bakura's retreating back; she had been useful to someone, and not just anyone, she had been useful to Bakura, at least, that was what it had seemed like. Closing her eyes in bliss; Myrtle was, therefore, unprepared for what happened next.

A loud clatter of falling books brought Myrtle back to the present to see Quintus standing over a fallen Bakura at the corner of the bookcases; a split second later Bakura was up on his feet again, glaring up at the older boy.

"You ran into me, apologize dirt bag." Quintus growled, too quietly for Myrtle to have heard from her original position at the table; with a start she realized she had already darted forward, and was currently standing a foot behind Bakura, and about to step closer, she pulled her foot back in shock.

"You are the one who walked around that corner, and ran into me." Bakura replied calmly, holding out under Quintus' heavy glare.

"Shall I have to force you?"

Involuntarily Myrtle stepped quickly up behind Bakura. "You should do what he asks; it's not that much, otherwise he'll come up with something much worse." She advised, her eyes flickering up to Quintus and back down to Bakura at her side.

Bakura looked over at Myrtle sharply, and Myrtle sent him the most convincing look she could muster.

"Oh yes, Pryor and I have quite a history." Quintus broke in, his eyes glittering as they flickered between Myrtle and Bakura; obviously considering this as a wonderful opportunity to inflict damage upon his favorite scapegoat.

"You still have not explained why I should apologize." Bakura replied, ignoring Myrtle at the moment.

Quintus seemed to be taken aback at Bakura's _obstinance, which was burning away at his short fuse; Myrtle flinched back as he reached from his wand. _

_"Just do it." She whispered into his ear, cringing behind her companion._

_"You should listen to her." Quintus advised as he slowly raised his wand. "I can't have some puny little first year talking back to me like that. Langlock!"_

_"I will d-" Bakura was stopped mid sentence; Myrtle, who's eyes had been locked on Quintus, turned sharply to look at Bakura who had raised a hand to his mouth, and was poking at his tongue, which seemed to be stuck to the top of his mouth._

_"That shut you up nicely; now, what shall be your punishment…" Quintus trailed off, considering the small crowd that had formed around them; Myrtle followed his gaze, having not noticed the others right away she was surprised to find herself, once again, caught in the middle of circle of students. _

_"That shut the little mutt up nicely,"_

_"I never liked him."_

_"Oh sure, I seem to remember you swooning over him for the past two days!"_

_"Not someone who doesn't know enough to get out of Quintus' way."_

_"Shouldn't someone be getting a professor?"_

_"And finish the fun before it starts?"_

_"Look at the moan cringe."_

_"Hang him from the top of a bookcase for a while Quintus, that'll teach him!"_

"That isn't a bad idea." Quintus agreed as his fingers playing over his wand, impatient to inflict more suffering on his subject. "Wingardium Leviosa." Enunciating the words perfectly, his wand swishing and then flicking, and Bakura began to rise.

Myrtle, reacting far too late, jumped up and missed his foot by a few inches.

"Leave him be girl, you will be next." Quintus commented, his eyes fixed upon Bakura; so, he failed to see the snake until it was too late.

A monstrous snake closed its jaws on Quintus' neck, as an equally huge shadow loomed out of the shadows of a nearby corner to pluck Bakura out of the air; Quintus toppled forward, his breaths coming out in gasping gurgles.

"Someone, get a Professor!" The shrill scream broke the silence that seemed to have paralyzed the crowd for what had felt like an eternity.

Unfazed by the tumult that now surrounded it, the snake man figure reached down and picked up Myrtle, who had still been frozen with shock; slithered away between the stacks, and through the library wall, to an empty corridor beyond. Putting them down again, it disappeared into a shadow.

"What was? What was that?" Myrtle found it very hard to articulate her question, even after several seconds of just standing there, gaping at the spot where the thing had disappeared; she was only answered by a muffled humming. "Bakura?" Turning back to him, she realized his tongue was still stuck to the top of his mouth. "Sorry." She apologized fervently, digging through her robes for her wand. "Finite Incantatem."

"That was Diabound." Bakura replied, his right hand running up and down his jaw.

"Who is?" Myrtle began to ask, but Bakura interrupted her quickly.

"You know, if you always are always so timorous, bullies are always going to walk all over you." Bakura commented, evading her question Myrtle noticed; she wasn't sure how she felt about that, but it was suspicious.

"I don't want him to kill me." Myrtle defended herself.

"As if the teachers would let him." Bakura scoffed. "That bully was nothing."

"And you would have been cooling your heels up in the library rafters if that thing hadn't appeared." Myrtle moped. "It's easy for you, I'm afraid of heights."

"You really need to be tougher, you are so cowardly Myrtle; you wonder why you don't have any friends." Bakura finished scornfully.

"And you're so mean Bakura." Myrtle sniffed, tears welling up; she had thought he was her friend. "I never want to talk to you again." Spinning away, she stumbled away, her head in her hands, sobbing; making a beeline for the nearest girl's lavatory.


	15. Toast

Toast

Bakura rolled his eyes and took two steps forward, moving so much faster than Myrtle that he had her by the arm before she realised that he'd moved. "Honestly, you're so sensitive." He strode off in the opposite directing, heading for the common room. As he had yet to let go of her arm Myrtle had to follow him or be dragged, and she seemed to have chosen the first option.

Reaching his destination, he sat Myrtle down in the corner and pulled up another chair across from hers, then crossed his arms and stared at her. "Have you ever tried to stand up for yourself?"

This seemed to bring Myrtle to life. "What makes you think you can judge me on that? If that creature hadn't appeared you would have been toast!"

"Toast?" Blinking, Bakura reached out to touch her forehead, but she didn't feel overly hot so... "He was going to try to turn me into toast?"

"What?" Now it was Myrtle's turn to stare at him as though he had lost his mind. A moment later she seemed to realize why he was confused, however, and shook her head. "It's a figure of speech. I meant that you would have been in big trouble if that thing hadn't appeared."

"Thing?" A smirk appeared on Bakura's face. "You call my lovely Diabound a thing?" He pouted briefly, then shrugged, returning to his standard 'neutral' expression, a half-smirk that could hide just about any emotion. "I'll have to learn how to use magic in a more standard manner, but until then Diabound can protect me from most things." He smiled ruefully and added, "The problem with that, of course, is that I have to summon him first rather than letting someone else get the first blow in."

Myrtle was staring at him. "You summoned that huge thing?"

Arching his brows, Bakura gave the girl a look. "I thought I'd told you not to call him a thing. Diabound is my Ka beast. Now, why don't you try that again?"

Myrtle's laughter lightened the depression that she had been stubbornly clinging to, and the witch finally relaxed, leaning back in her chair and losing the miserable expression on her face. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Ah." She would pick the worst possible question to ask him. "Actually I learned at home, before I was sent to the orphanage. It was the first time I ever realised that there was magic in the world, when I yelled for help and looked up to find him towering above me." Bakura smiled then, forgetting about his secrecy for a moment as he remembered the moment. "That was glorious." It had only been later that he'd realised Diabound could kill – and that he could find the will to order it.

Shaking his head, Bakura willed the thought away. Now was not the time to think about his own regrets. "Anyway, we were talking about you. Unlike me, you know the spells that wizards use – and if you don't you shouldn't be here. You can at least try to defend yourself when someone tries to bully you into submission rather than letting them walk all over you. It might actually help, and even if you lose, you'll learn something from it and be able to fight better next time."

He'd said far more than he'd intended to, so Bakura stood, leaving Myrtle where she was as he walked towards the door. "Thank you," Myrtle said quietly, halting him, and he turned to give her a brief smile in return for her words before heading outside. The sunshine was warm and comforting, even if the greenery in this place was utterly unfamiliar and everything was colder than it had been back home.

Lying down in the grass by the side of the lake, Bakura stared up at the sky and contemplated his position. He was here under false pretences. If the headmaster knew even a fraction of the things he had done the man would kill him or at the very least throw him in prison. Bakura might be ignorant in the standards of the wizarding world, but he knew enough to be sure of that.

Murder was a crime no matter where you went. He sighed and rolled over on his stomach, staring morosely at the lake. Destruction, malice, terror, they were all things that he had tried to spread in order to wreak his revenge on the pharaoh. He had known that he would fit the definition of evil, but somehow he'd hoped that he wouldn't. It was stupid to think about it, but he couldn't help it. While he had been entirely focused on killing the pharaoh and releasing his family's souls he'd felt nothing. Anything was possible so long it was conceivable. Now that he was no longer so purely focused, however, he was guilty and regretful. Surely some of the men that he had killed had families or sweethearts.

It didn't matter now. Leaving his things in a heap, Bakura plunged into the water, swimming down as far as he could and coming up without having seen the bottom of the lake. He reached the center, ignoring the tentacles that poked out of the water and waved at him, lying on his back and floating for a moment. All too soon, however, he began shivering, and struck out for the shore, emerging to stand, dripping wet and with weeds caught in his clothes.

He'd forgotten how cold it was here, but this was a more than satisfactory reminder. Still shivering, he dried off his hands enough to pick up his things and went inside, ignoring the fact that he was leaving a dripping trail of water behind him. He had been cleansed in the primordial waters, and for the moment Bakura was at peace.


	16. Skinny Dipping

Skinny Dipping

"You know that boy, the one who stood up to Quintus?"

"Skinny-dipping in the lake!"

"There's something wrong in that guy's head."

"I wonder if Pryor knows what he did?"

"Ooh, look at her turn red, she heard."

"Skinny dipping?"

Myrtle looked away as she felt the blood rush to her face; turning back to the overly green lettuce of her lunch salad. She didn't believe it for an instant. How could people come up with such sick things to say about Bakura? He did some strange things, but, but, but, skinny-dipping?

Myrtle skewered a cucumber slice; wondered where Bakura really was. They usually ate lunch at the same time, but she hadn't seen him since the Diabound incident. The palled girl shuttered, involuntarily, at the memory; she almost hoped that Quintus was ok, but didn't.

"His hair's wet."

"I'm sure he takes showers you dolt!"

"But Knot saw him; said he was-" The voices were cut off, and Myrtle glanced up from her mutilation of garden vegetables to see Bakura walking past them; towards her.

His hair was indeed wet, but he walked with the same amount of confidence as ever; his look sufficed to quiet the madly dashing rumors; there wasn't even a hint of a blush in his tanned cheek. Droplets glittered innocently on his long, dark, eyelashes, as, he, blinked.

"Myrtle?" Myrtle blinked, refocusing on Bakura beyond his lashes.

"You wouldn't have happened to be down by the lake this morning, were you?" Myrtle blurted out quickly, her curiosity overcoming all her pretenses and fears.

"Of course I was; I went swimming." Bakura explained, his voice taking on the certain nuance that had come to irritate Myrtle, it was the tone he took to her when he thought she was not being completely logical.

"You wouldn't have happened to have any clothes on at the time?" Myrtle's voice quickly lowered to a whisper, as she glanced around nervously to see if anyone was paying attention. They weren't anymore.

"Of course not, they would have been ruined." Bakura answered, confused.

Myrtle's heart fell. He had not just said what she thought he had just said.

"Are you alright?" Bakura almost looked worried about her, as Myrtle felt the blood drain from her face, and her mouth fall open, as she gaped at the boy across the table from her. Then, after a moment's contemplation of what he had just said to her; what that would mean, and all the blood returned to her cheeks with a vengeance.

"You… Did…"

"Myrtle, get a grip on yourself. Do you need to go see Madame Brandon?"

"You were naked…?"

"Is that the only thing bothering you?"

"Well… What else is worse?"

"All that green stuff in your mouth."

"Oh, sorry." Myrtle quickly closed her mouth again, and swallowed the remnants of lettuce that had been sticking to her teeth.

"I'm not really that hungry now." Bakura noted, standing once more.

"I was just finishing." Myrtle agreed, jumping up hastily to follow after him. "Could I talk to you a minute?"

"Ok, what about?" Bakura stopped, in the middle of the Great Hall, and turned to face her; so quickly, that she almost ran into him.

"Uh, somewhere more private?" Myrtle suggested, her eyes darting around to all the watching eyes that surrounded them.

"All right." Bakura turned around again, and walked out, Myrtle right on his heels. "Now what?"

"Bakura, I know a lot of things are different where you used to live." Myrtle paused, taking several deep breaths, to try and calm herself; she had not anticipated this conversation "But, if you keep doing what you were doing, you could get in a lot of trouble."

"Don't you ever go swimming?" Bakura inquired mildly, looking her over curiously; if it were possible Myrtle flushed even more.

"We do go swimming." Myrtle replied, slowly, running a hand over her brow; willing the blood to go down. "But, we usually have clothes on. They're called swimming trunks."

"Swimming trunks?"


	17. Swimming Trunks

Swimming Trunks

One brow rose. It did sound like a good idea, to have some sort of clothing that wouldn't get ruined in the water, but he'd never heard of anything like it before. Then again, he had apparently been sealed in the Ring for the past thousand years or more. If they did have such things it stood to reason that he wouldn't have heard of them.

"Swimming trunks are like shorts but they're made of a special material so you can swim with them. You can buy them at Madame Malkin's if you want, just promise me you won't go swimming naked again." She was so red that she looked as though she were feverish, Bakura mused, feeling a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Not where you can see me, at least." Now Bakura let himself grin. "Why are you so embarrassed? It's not like I was having sex or something." Even if he had been he still didn't think there was any reason to get all worked up over it, but seeing Myrtle's reaction to the mere thought of him being naked he didn't think he was going to mention that.

"You – you –" Myrtle's words were garbled and nonsensical, and Bakura found himself laughing quietly.

"I what, Myrtle?" He looked at her, knowing that his amusement showed in his eyes, but not really caring. It was fun to tease her, after all. "Is there something wrong?"

Seeming to get the idea, she stuck her tongue out at him. "Oh, shut up. You really are going to get yourself in trouble if you keep doing things like that."

Bakura snorted. "I doubt that." Seeing the look on her face he relented. "I don't think I'll try that again, though." He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. "The water's freezing." The thick black robes had been warm earlier, but now they were just cold and damp, making him feel even colder. "Later."

He nearly ran to the common rooms, stripping and climbing under the hot shower with a sense of relief. The warm water pouring over him finally thawed out his skin. Bakura didn't understand how people could stand to live in a place so cold. No wonder they wore clothes even when swimming.

Sighing, Bakura dried off and yanked on clean clothing, dropping the damp robes in a pile for the house-elves to pick up. He missed Egypt. There wasn't anything he could do about that now, however, so he grabbed one of his textbooks and took it to the library, curling up in an armchair and beginning to study.


	18. Asking

Asking

The day started like many other mornings as fall slowly crept over the school. Myrtle awoke, her nose the only appendage sticking out from under her blankets, and freezing; getting up, she brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair, pulled on an identical nondescript robe, and trudged up the stairs to the common room.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she blinked several times at the new piece of parchment on the notice board.

"Hogsmeade this Saturday."

"I only have seven sickles.

"My father wouldn't let my mother sign the permission form."

Myrtle breathed a sigh of relief, her family, though not able to take away the pains of school, had found no reason not to allow her to go to Hogsmeade. The last month hadn't been that bad, though, not with Bakura.

"I'm going with Tom." Drusilla Malfoy, a narrow beauty of seductive charm, proclaimed the matter rather proudly to a rather jealous looking Lynette Knott, a normally simpering lackey.

Flicking her eyes back to the parchment, the visit was this Saturday; today was Thursday. She had looked forward to it all summer, but had promptly forgotten about it again the first week of school. Whatever, it would still be enjoyable, even without her life being a hell hole of torment too.

Her spirits somewhat raised at this thought, Myrtle stepped quickly out of the common room and up to the Great Hall, without even a hint of a whisper to follow her.

"Did you see the announcement in the common room?" Myrtle didn't look at Bakura as she prepared her waffles for consumption.

"Hogs… Hogsmeade?" Bakura's reply came after several thoughtful chewing seconds.

"One of the few fully wizard villages; I heard it is really fun." Myrtle explained, a smile pulling at the edge of her natural scowl. "You have to be in third year to go."

"I am a first year." Bakura reminded her, after a second's pause.

"Well…" Myrtle trailed off, focusing her attention on his face, which was far from any childish shape it might once have possessed. "You clearly are not eleven… How old are you?" Her shock came through clearly in her voice; she did not know how old he was, exactly.

"I am…" Bakura trailed off, his eyes falling to his toast; his silence lasted longer then Myrtle thought necessary. "Fourteen." He finally stated, looking squarely at her. "Close anyway." Bakura shrugged off his ignorance of any exact facts.

Myrtle blinked. "Well then, you technically should be at least a third year." She stated after a pause. "Do you have any guardians?"

"Guardians?" Bakura only showed a low level of perplexity; his self control irking her ever so slightly.

"Parents, mother, father; people who look after you?"

"Dead." His face flinched ever so slightly. "What kinds of things do they have at Hogsmeade?"

"I am sure Professor Slughorn would be willing to sign your permission form for you; you should ask him." Myrtle usually tried to avoid their overly pompous Head of House.

Bakura's eyes turned away from Myrtle, and he began absently to nibble at his toast.

"Well, there's The Hogshead, Zonko's Joke Shop, Honeydukes sweetshop, and… a quill shop?" Myrtle answered his second question enthusiastically; trying to draw his attention back from whatever brood it had fled to.

"Sounds fun; I'll ask." Bakura murmured his expression completely blank as he looked back up at her.

"I only know whatever everyone else says about it, and they all agree that it is." Myrtle smiled encouraging. "We'll get to discover it together." She willed back the rush of blood that threatened to rush to her face at her last word.

"Perhaps the occasion will not offer so many opportunities for me to embarrass you." A slight smile began emerging from his stone cold face, as if he were recalling something funny; not something mortifying. "Swimming trunks aren't needed where I come from; the water is so much warmer."

"It's more the-" Myrtle stopped herself abruptly, her cheeks turning only the slightest bit pink; instead, making a cutting motion with her left hand. "Part, then whether you are cold or not. It's time for class." Dropping her fork, Myrtle quickly excused herself."

-

"Did you ask Slughorn yet?"

"No."

"You probably should, we leave at ten o'clock tomorrow."

-

Myrtle was running to her Ancient Runes class; she was running late, because she had been waiting for Bakura at lunch, and he had never shown up. Dashing around a blind corner she ran into another hard object. Automatically flinching back, she looked up to find herself eye to eye with Bakura.

"Did you ask…?" She trailed off; unsure of whether she wanted him to have or not; in the last twenty-four hours, as the tension slowly mounted, she had come up with a million reasons why Slughorn should deny him.

"He said yes." Myrtle had no time to study his expression or tone, for any hint of any hidden meaning; she suddenly found herself very very close to Bakura, with her arms wrapped around him in excitement. She was very glad there was no one in the hall to see.

As soon as she realized that she was hugging Bakura, a matter of a few seconds wild deduction, she dropped her arms and eyes back to her sides.

"I'm late for class!" Was her hurried explanation, as, with downcast eye, she ran down the hall, her heart pounding wildly.


	19. cold

Cold

Bakura fidgeted with the small bag of coins that Professor Slughorn had given him for his trip. He wasn't sure why the Professor had been so eager to see him getting out into the village, but while he could understand that in a way he still didn't get why the man had felt the need to give him money. It wasn't as though he was planning to buy anything.

Finally he tucked it into a pocket in his robes and began to layer up. Although no one else seemed to be as affected as he was the weather was getting colder, and he had been having enough trouble staying warm before. It got cold in the desert but never as cold as this, and this wasn't even winter yet!

He met Myrtle in the common room, raising his brows at the sight of her in her usual robes, with only a thin coat to compensate for the cold. She, on the hand, giggled at the thick layers he wore and the green and silver scarf wrapped around his neck. Well, maybe to her he did look rather funny, but at least he'd be warm.

Smiling determinedly, he held out his hand to her. "Shall we go, then?" She blushed and took his hand, letting him lead her out of the common room to join the crowd of students heading to Hogsmeade.

Everyone was laughing and chattering excitedly, and Bakura felt his lips twist in disgust for a moment before he reminded himself that there was no need to be serious here. There was no dark god trying to conquer the country, there were no raiders or outlaws who might try to steal whatever they had, and there were no soldiers from other countries trying to take over. This future world was a peaceful one, and people could relax here.

As soon as he stepped outside Bakura found he was glad that he had taken the time to dress as warmly as he had. The air had a bite to it that had not been there the previous day, and the wind was whipping around people, blowing his hair into his eyes and chilling him. He shivered, and moved Myrtle closer to the center of the group, trying to shelter from the wind as much as possible.

Although she wasn't affected as badly as he was, Myrtle was also shivering. She moved closer to him, and he let go of her hand to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer with a sigh of relief. It was much warmer like this, and he felt his cheeks heating up at her closeness. She seemed startled but happy to be there, and she leaned closer to him as the crowd began to break up, people moving onto different streets.

"So where do you want to go first?" He asked her a little nervously. He wanted to stop by the quill shop to see if he could get more of those quills that wrote for you since the one he was using was starting to wear at the tip.

"Well, I wanted to go to Honeydukes," she began, smiling up at him. "They have the best sweets ever, and I want to get some. Other than that, well, I thought it might be nice to go to Madame Puddifoot's after we've got everything you and I wanted. What about you?"

"I thought maybe I'd stop by the quill shop you mentioned, but there wasn't really anything else." Bakura shrugged. He wasn't sure how far the money he had been given would stretch, and he didn't actually need anything. As a matter of fact he had a lot more things now than he ever had before, and just the idea of being allowed to get more was incredible.

Myrtle smiled up at him and tugged him toward the sweet shop. "Come on, I want to see whether they've got any fudge."

Wandering through the shelves of sweets was surprisingly fun as Myrtle chatted about how Chocolate Frogs tasted, how disgusting Blood Pops were, and how good this or that item looked. She ended up buying quite a few packages of fudge as well as several different kinds of chocolate, in particular a candied, chocolate covered orange that they divided between them as they looked for the quill shop.

Bakura wasn't in any hurry to get there, though. He was enjoying this, strolling through the streets with Myrtle eating the strange treat and licking sugar and melted chocolate from his fingers when they were done. It seemed far too soon when they reached the shop, and Bakura was reluctant to enter. Myrtle seemed happy about it, however, and pulled him in to look through everything, giggling over sugar quills and purple ink while he grabbed three of the quills he wanted and a large pot of the more serviceable black ink.

When they went out Bakura was carrying her purchases as well as his own, several white feather quills and a pot of ink that sparkled and changed colors as he watched. He found the colors fascinating as well, but as he'd thought there wasn't enough money in the small purse he had been given to pay for any of the special inks, not if he wanted to eat anything in the place Myrtle had mentioned. Once again he felt a shock as the cold wind hit them as soon as the door opened, and he was very happy to get into the small teashop with Myrtle hanging off his arm.


	20. Not with a ten foot poll

Not with a ten foot poll

Myrtle's entire body was tingling, but how couldn't it be, so close to him. She couldn't remember a single second in her entire moaning life that someone, outside her immediate family, of course, had held her so close; the experience was intoxicating. The tingling, however, did little to quiet the whispering as he and she entered the teashop.

"Look at those two, as cozy as could be."

"It makes me want to puke."

"He said no to me, and then goes out with her?"

Myrtle caught a flash of blond in her peripheral vision, as Diane tossed back her hair agitatedly as she made the sideways comment to the fawning boy beside her; a nervous shiver ran up her back, and Myrtle quickly relocked her gaze ahead just in time to sit down without falling all over her own feet.

Then, there he was, sitting across from her; looking curiously around, anywhere but at her. Myrtle glanced quickly down at the table, her fingers fiddling with the napkin; sending the spoon clattering to the floor.

"Sorry." Myrtle mumbled as she bent down under the table; sitting back up, under his somewhat annoyed look, she sighed. It was so hard to hold onto her tenuous bravado in a situation like this. What was she supposed to be doing anyway?

"What'll it be?" Myrtle looked up, startled, to see a buxom young waitress beaming down at them welcomingly.

"Two… Regular teas." Myrtle's voice started vaguely, but gained strength as Bakura nodded, for him, almost encouragingly. Perhaps he was even a little bit more lost then she was.

"Cream and sugar?"

Myrtle paused, glancing over at the ever-silent boy across from her, as he remained, silent. Well, if he wasn't going to say anything. "Cream and sugar for both of us please." The words fought to remain in her head, but she managed, in the end, to force them out rather normally.

A single questioning look at Bakura, and the waitress was gone; Bakura offered her a slight smile.

"Pryor, taking the lead?"

"Too full of herself."

"I agree." There was that flash of blond again; Myrtle looked quickly away, to stare at Riddle and Drusilla.

There wasn't much to see; a fairly attractive young man, his very posture emanating cocky self-confidence, and power, and a sparkling, simpering, and poisons looking women of seductive proportions, smiling at each other through gritted teeth.

"Here you go."

Myrtle jerked from her stare at the words, and a light touch on her arm. Only to find two steaming cups of tea between her, and Bakura's left hand curled back, as if he had just flinched back from a hot flame.

"Thank-you." Myrtle offered the women a shy smile, as she reached for the comforting warmth of the mug of hot tea.

Sipping delicately at her own drink, Myrtle watched with interest as Bakura took one shy sip, and then downed the liquid in what could only be described as a few short, uncharacteristic, gulps.

"That was very good." He commented after a few silent moments.

"I'm glad you liked it, though you could have ordered anything you liked." Myrtle looked at him questioningly, his curious silence brought back to the forefront of her mind.

"I was only letting you be more confident." His answer was very smooth, but Myrtle thought it a very calculated dodge. He wasn't stupid, though all evidence pointed to the contrary, what with him hanging out with her so much…

She wasn't going to think about that! She was only going to enjoy whatever time he gave her; not wonder aimlessly about the future.

"I wouldn't get that close to Pryor for a million galleons, imagine the stink."

Myrtle noted, as her breaths shortened, that she had leaned perceptively closer to her companion, and quickly jerked her body back from the abyss.

"Look at the time." Myrtle barely managed the words without a stutter as she glanced around hurriedly for a clock. "I should really be getting back to the castle. Do you mind if I go? Do you want to come?"

"Sure." He looked, almost, confused, though that was not a state that she often attributed to him, but agreed with a curt nod. He probably didn't hear everything everyone said about them, or maybe it just didn't grate on him like it did her.

Standing, flustered, she walked sharply out of the teashop, and out into the cold. She felt so cold; so empty.


	21. Insecurities

Insecurities

Walking beside Myrtle as she headed back to the castle, Bakura knew that he kept staring at her, but at least he managed not to show his confusion. He just didn't understand her sometimes. He had thought she would enjoy that, sitting in the cozy shop and drinking tea, but she had looked as though she was on edge the whole time and had taken the first opportunity to get away.

A group of people passed, glancing at them curiously, and Bakura shivered. They didn't seem to notice the cold but he certainly did. Looking down at Myrtle he saw that she had retreated even further into her shell and frowned.

"Hey, I thought I told you to ignore them." That would explain why she had been so on edge, at least. There had been several people staring at them as they sat in that place, and given Myrtle's usual attitude she would have been listening to whatever they said about them. "Honestly Myrtle, it's not like what people think of you matters."

That thought sent his mind spiraling down a path he didn't want to follow, however, and she didn't respond anyway, so he tried again. "You didn't get to properly enjoy your tea. Do you want to sneak into the kitchens and have some more when we get back?" It would be a waste of time, but he had learned that there wasn't really anything that was really important to do in Hogwarts so it didn't matter that he was wasting time he could be spending trying to train his magic further, even though there were more than a few things he wanted to check out.

Myrtle's cheeks went red as she looked up at him. "Do… do you still want to?" She asked in a very small voice, and he sighed. There was not reason for her to be so uncertain of herself. She had as much magical power as any of the other students and rather more than most, if she ever got around to actually using it. The way she ignored that power and second-guessed everything was starting to get really annoying.

He made sure not to show any traces of that annoyance when he responded however. It wouldn't help and it would only make her even less likely to stand up for herself in the future. "I asked you, didn't I? If I didn't want to spend time with you then I wouldn't." It was true. Her attitude might be infuriating but he'd come to enjoy having her around. She could keep a secret well enough, and when she forgot about being self-conscious Myrtle was quite good company.

A happy smile spread over the girl's face and he found himself smiling in return. "Come catch me!" She started running back to the castle, and he laughed quietly as he ran after her, bags bouncing against his shoulder in a way that brought back memories of stolen loot. He enjoyed playing these childish games sometimes, even though they did make him feel as though he should be doing something more worthwhile.

Back at the castle, he walked with Myrtle to the common room and gave her the things she had bought. "I'm going to go put these away." He said mildly, holding up his own purchases. "Meet you down here after ward?"

"Sure!" She smiled and ran down the stairs to her room while he took the longer staircase to the boy's dorms. Of course she was already in the common room when he returned, but she seemed happy to see him and tucked her arm in his as they went out the door. Glancing down at her in surprise, he saw that she had gone very red but was clinging determinedly to his arm. Well, he had told her not to be so shy.

Shrugging, he led the way to the picture and lightly ran his fingers over the pear in the fruit bowl, watching as the fruit twitched. He heard a quiet clicking sound and the picture frame swung aside, revealing the passage behind it. Myrtle gasped at the sight, and he looked down to smile at her. "Neat isn't it?" She nodded, and came with him into the kitchen.

Immediately the house elves gathered around them, eager to help in any way they could. Remembering what Myrtle had said to the lady in the tea shop Bakura asked for two regular teas with cream and sugar and watched as the little creatures ran around to do as he had asked. Moments later a couple pulled out chairs for them, fluffing up cushions and bringing out a plate of gingersnaps. He had been here a few times before, and noticed that they enjoyed having people to fuss over, but they were going a little further today than they usually did.

Shrugging mentally, he took a seat and bit into a cookie as Myrtle did the same, smiling at him shyly. "How did you know how to get in here?" She asked him admiringly. "I've seen that picture a hundred times but I never even guessed that it might be a door."

"Oh, well, I've seen things like it before, and the mechanism's actually visible if you know where to look." Bakura looked away. As used to robbing tombs as he was it had been child's play for him to find the passage along with quite a few others, although he was sure there were more he had yet to discover.

The tea that the house elves slid in front of them was a welcome distraction and Bakura stared at the steaming liquid morosely. He hated having to keep so many secrets, but he didn't want to see what would happen if the people here learned the truth. As long as he remained an untrained child in their opinion he would be fine, but if they ever found out that he was a thief, and that by spying on the priests during their training he had learned as much as anyone in his time he would be cast out and best and at worst killed.

Although he was stronger than most of the 'wizards' in this time he had no illusions that he would be able to escape them. There were so many, and they all worked together so well. He looked over at Myrtle and smiled sadly, wondering. What would she say if she knew how many people he had killed?


	22. Revenge?

Revenge?

She had been going to ask Bakura if he had found any other secret passages, that weren't public knowledge, while they were together down in the kitchen, but a sad tint to his contemplative smile had stopped her; now, as she ate her dinner, she wondered about it, staring down at her pile of peas.

Bakura had ordered Myrtle to be more self confident; if she was, she would have just asked him about what bothered him so, but she was a coward, and he despised her for it, she knew.

Glancing up the table, anything to avoid her companion, Myrtle noted that Rosemerta was hunched down beside Hornby, and they seemed to be energetically whispering back and forth. Surprisingly, she couldn't hear a word they were saying. A wave of sickening nausea watched over the girl as she remembered the threatening whispers she had overheard. What were they planning?

"You might want to watch your step." Myrtle muttered, looking across at Bakura as her fork continued to frolic among the peas.

His eyes seemed to flicker to the floor behind her, before refocusing on Myrtle. "What do you mean?"

"I think some of the other girls are planning some kind of revenge." Myrtle felt the blood draining from her face as she finally voiced her fear.

"For what?" Bakura's iron tight self-control couldn't hide his incredulity.

"For…" Myrtle swallowed nervously, her eyes falling back to her plate. "Going out with you."

"Going with you to Hogsmeade?"

Myrtle nodded shyly, "they think it was a date." The blood returned to her cheeks with a vengeance.

"A date." Bakura repeated, ever contemplating.

Myrtle tried to study Bakura's face for a few bold seconds, finding no hints as to his own feelings.

"I need to go to the library." Bakura's voice sounded harried as he practically leapt from his seat. "I'll talk to you later then." He added, over his shoulder, his voice clearly intoning to her that he did not wished to be followed.

Myrtle swallowed back to a catch in her throat, she hadn't thought her warning would drive him away like that; she hoped he wouldn't avoid her from now on, for his own comfort. This was Slytherin after all.

Apparently her time with Bakura had paid off, to some extent; Myrtle was able to eat the rest of her dinner, walk to the second floor girl's toilet, and safely obscure herself in a stall before the tears overwhelmed her. She was doomed.

Monday was darkly overcast, and clouds pressed down from the Great Hall ceiling to swirl mistily among the groggy students.

Myrtle sat despondently with only a mound of pancakes for company' pancakes covered in a half gallon of syrup, and topped off by a dozen strawberries. It was a beautiful sight, but Myrtle only picked at it.

"Pryor is such a cow."

"Stuffing herself like some kind of cravings obsessed pregnant sow."

Myrtle pressed her fork into the sugary pile, skewering and ripping; pulling free, she took a defiant bite as anger boiled through her veins, they all binged anyway.

"Her and her dream boy must have had a fight."

"I did think I heard her crying in the loo after dinner."

"I didn't see anything…"

Myrtle took another bight, fighting back her emotions with deliciousness.

"It must be that though, Pryor is so easy to read."

"Why are we wasting so much thought on her anyway? I heard that Riddle and Malfoy did **_it_**."

"No way!"

I heard it from Horby, who heard it from Weasley, who heard it from-"

Myrtle ignored the excited giggles, to concentrated on her food. She was going to enjoy it, even if it killed her. She waited and waited, slowly consuming every last drop of strawberry juice, until breakfast was over; he never came.

Myrtle stood, and a wave of sickness broke over her; she had eaten far too much. Stumbling one step, she managed to regaining her balance and walking out of the hall; she still didn't see him as she walked up the stairs, to the Hospital Wing.

"So the boy seems to be completely human?" Myrtle halted in the doorway, a middle aged man, his hair dark, but graying, peered at Madam Brandon through thin rectangular spectacles.

"In all rights, sir." The little old healer nodded, emphatically.

"We've looked over your report and-" the man happened to glance sideways, and his mouth snapped shut abruptly.

"What's wrong dear?" Madame Brandon had followed his gaze, and stepped towards Myrtle.

"Upset stomach." Myrtle mumbled, her eyes flitting between the cool silence of the man, and the sudden obscuring warmth of Brandon.

"Sit down here, I'll have a settling potion in just a moment." Gesturing to the first bed to hand, the elderly women nodded the man into her closet.

Myrtle sat, all alone, on the cold stiff sheets; surrounded by the cold harsh stone.

"Here you are, dear." Myrtle was broken out of her ennui, and offered Madame Brandon a weak smile, as she excepted a steaming mug of an odorless liquid. "If you need anything, just call, I'll be in the medicine closet. You can lay down for a bit, if you need to." With a final smile the healer disappeared behind the door.

The morning flickered away as Myrtle dozed in the infirmary she felt better, and wondered what Bakura was doing; but feared, if she found him, he would avoid her.

Finally, the clock boomed out eleven o'clock, and Myrtle's stomach rumbled.

"You should go eat some lunch." Madame Brandon encouraged from across the room.

Myrtle sighed, and stood. She felt fine; she couldn't just hide away for the rest of the weekend.

"Thank-you." Myrtle yanked nervously at her hair as she descended to the Great Hall.

The ceiling was still mostly obscured by clouds like that morning, but the sun managed to still shine down on the student body with a little cheerfulness, and gleamed off white hair at the far end of the Slytherin table.

She was supposed to be more confident; she was supposed to be self-assured. Myrtle stepped confidently over to where Bakura sat and took her place directly beside him.

"Where were you this morning?" Teeth glittered slightly as the boy offered her a smile.

"Infirmary, upset stomach. Why didn't you come down to breakfast?" She countered, beginning to slather a piece of toast in butter and jam.

"Wasn't hungry." Myrtle felt the brush of his shoulder on hers as he shrugged; her breath hitched slightly. "Any ideas of what to do this afternoon?"

Myrtle whipped around to face Bakura, caught completely off guard. "You want to?" This time he didn't shield his annoyance; simply glared at her.

"I wouldn't have asked if-"

"I know," Myrtle brazenly cut through his reminder. "But, what will everyone think?"

"I don't care."

"Doesn't the idea of everyone thinking we are dating bother you in the least?"


	23. Would it be so Bad if we Were?

Would it be so Bad if we Were?

"Why should it?" Bakura asked serenely. "Is there someone who's going to challenge me for the right?" He still wasn't clear on exactly what dating was, but what he had found had told him that it was basically a sort of light-hearted courting. When he'd accepted her invitation he hadn't been thinking of courtship or romance, but since she had brought it up he had begun to do so. Now he absently brought up the conclusion which he had come to. "Would it be so bad if we were?"

Myrtle's cutlery dropped and she stared at him as though she'd never seen him before. "No." She whispered finally, blushing a furiously red color. "I… I'd like that."

Several seconds passed in silence as Bakura watched the colors changing in her face. She'd gone first white, then red, and the color was now fading to a delicate shade of pink. It still felt strange to see the peachy color that people's skins were here rather than the shades of bronze he was used to, but he was growing to like it, and the dark brown of Myrtle's eyes was a familiar and welcoming shade.

Deciding to change the subject before Myrtle could get more unsettled than she was at the moment, Bakura spoke again quickly. "So do you want to pay another visit to the kitchens after class?" He thought that Myrtle would probably want to do something a bit less practical, but it was all he could think of to say at the moment, and the bell would ring in a few minutes.

"Sure," Myrtle stammered over the word and blushed again. "I mean – that sounds great!" Bakura's smile became rather strained and he bent his head and continued eating again, trying not to pay attention to Myrtle's self-effacing behavior. After all, she had agreed, and she was getting better. Perhaps that was why it annoyed him so much when she showed that she was still uncertain of herself.

Shrugging, he offered her a quick smile and headed off to get his things. He didn't think he could manage to keep from snapping at her if he had to listen to her apologizing for being herself any longer. When he got to his room there was a note on the bedside table, and Bakura snatched it up and stuffed it into his pocket as he yanked on a cloak and practically threw his books into his bag before heading out for his Herbology class.

As he strode towards the first of the greenhouses, Bakura pulled out the note that he had found and smoothed it out so that he could read the message on it. The words are short, telling him nothing of what is wanted of him, but he feels his heart rate increasing despite that, in dreadful anticipation. The very fact that the paper tells him so little makes him certain that it has happened. They _know_.

Shoving the thought out of his mind as much as he could, Bakura pulled on thick gloves and followed the teacher's directions as they added thick black compost to the dry brown soil in small pots and poured out small glassfuls of water to give the plants life. He thought of the rich dark color of the earth after the Nile floods, and the pale white sands, and the water that gives life to everything, and wondered whether he would ever get to see his homeland again, and what had happened to it. Did the Pharaoh still rule as the god-king, the son of Re, the living Horus?

Thorns scratched his hands as he dug under the plants to make sure that the soil he was giving them reached the roots and nourished them, but he barely noticed. His mind was in Egypt, remembering the warmth of the sun by day, and the cold chill air of the night when Amun-Re no longer drove his chariot across the sky. The rich soil covered his hands, and he knew with a sick sense of certainty that he would never be what he had been once. He would not be able to plant himself in the fertile soil and rise up grown into someone strong and tall, as his mother had always whispered to him.

Water poured over his hands, and his next class went by in a blur of words, Binns' voice droning on like the insects that Bakura had always hated. His skin was still wet, and he stared in fascination at the water droplets which slid down his wrists and were absorbed into the thick fabric of his school robes. It should have felt soothing, a change from the dry heat that was the desert, but the water was cold, and his skin rose into tiny bumps that made him shiver.

Finally his duties were done, and he fled, running to the spiral staircase with his schoolbag still slung over one shoulder, and whispering the password he had discovered on his first day of exploration before running up the stairs. He could have stood and waited for the movement to take him to the top, but he was too agitated and restless to simply stand and wait so he ran. In front of him, the door opened, and Headmaster Dippet stood up and gave him what was meant to be a reassuring smile.

"You're not in trouble, child." He began, as Bakura sank into the too-soft chair in front of his desk. "Atem has been talking to the Ministry, however, and they wished to confirm his story. Is it true that you tried to kill him?"

"Yes." The word came out stronger than Bakura had hoped, and he sat up straighter, feeling the old familiar rage beginning to rise in him. Clenching his fists in his lap, he beat back the icy fire that tried to fill him, and stared into the professor's eyes, widening his own to hide the stinging that had begun. "It is true." He would still do it if he could. If the Pharaoh were here now Bakura would tear him apart with his bare hands. The images of blood and muscle and bones being pulled apart made him feel sick, but he merely opened his eyes wider and concentrated on his hands.

When he had woken up without that familiar presence – when he had heard that the Items were gone – Bakura had thought it was over. No, he'd hoped it was over. He had pleaded with Ma'at to make it so, to restore the balance so that he was alone. Now he knew that she hadn't listened, and the darkness was rising once again.


	24. Is this a date?

Is this a date?

The afternoon classes had slipped by in a blurry fog, where she only barely remember to search out the morning's professors to ascertain their assignments; finally, after an eternity, she found herself standing in front of the kitchen painting, alone.

It must have been at least twenty, if not thirty, minutes since classes ended. What was Bakura's last class?

Well, at least Myrtle could count herself above those simpering cases that religiously memorized their crushes schedule, and emblazed all their belongings with, at the very least, their initials, and some hearts.

Now, however, she had no idea where Bakura was supposed to have been, to go and find him.

No, she would not search him out! If he didn't want to spend time with her, she was not going to chase after him.

'But he had suggested this particular excursion, and hadn't he said he wouldn't mind if everyone thought they were dating?' The normally rational half of her mind chewed out the panicked side, but not part of her relaxed.

What should she do?

Wait?

Leave?

Her fingers clasped and unclasped for a few arduous seconds.

"Is something wrong?" A deeply tan hand moved to rest on her own pallid, under dark robes, arm.

"Nothing," tension flowed out from her like a river; leaving her feeling limp.

"Dippet wanted to speak with me. I am sorry for being late." Bakura explained, as he stepped forward to tickle the pear; his hand rising to Myrtle's shoulder, to tug her numb body up behind him.

"What do the master and lady desire?" the next moment they were swamped in a crowd of small roughly clad bodies.

"Tea?" They were seated now, and Myrtle nodded her assent over the excitedly bouncing heads.

"We just finished these!" The first house elf had scurried away, only to be replaced by another waving a still warm tray of pumpkin pasties.

"Thank-you," Myrtle accepted one; nibbling at it distractedly as her focused remained riveted on Bakura.

"What did Professor Dippet gave to talk to you about." Myrtle, surprised even by her own brazenness, let her eyes wonder from their subject to the high rafters above, and down to her lap, before returning to Bakura; only to see the close of a flicker of surprise, and something that smacked of fear.

Bakura paused before replying. "He had some questions about my former life. Thank-you," he turned to accept a steaming cup of tea. "Are you feeling better then this morning?"

His quick change of subject threw Myrtle a bit off balance as her own steaming cup of tea appeared in her hands. "Yeah," the words were out without a thought as her mind raced over the many questions that she wanted to know about him; despite the few weeks she had known him, Myrtle sometimes felt like she really knew him, but instances like this one made her contemplate how very little she actually knew about him.

"Do you?" Bakura's awkward stumbling as he seemed to force himself towards empty conversation distracted Myrtle from her inward wonderings. "Do you remember anything about first year charms? I'm having some trouble with the levitation charm."

Myrtle was skeptic, if she remembered anything it was that the levitation of objects was one of the first charms that a student learned; he was supposed to be foreign though, and had transferred in a few weeks into term, but he didn't have any kind of accent, even if he worded his sentences a bit oddly at times. Myrtle took a long, slow sip of tea.

"I just can't seem to get anything off the ground." He added, hopefully, no doubt noticing her hesitation.

"What most people mess up is which syllable to stress, and can't do the spell because they stress the last syllable rather then the third syllable."

"Why don't you show me?"

Myrtle sighed inwardly as she came to the blatant conclusion that he had erected this entire, stupid, charade because he didn't want to tell her something about his meeting with Dippet; he was afraid to tell her something.

Bakura was afraid of something?

"Please?" Apparently she had drifted off, yet again.

Mumbling an apology, she quickly demonstrated; perhaps over exaggerating the stress on the o, but lifting a teakettle two meters off the table nonetheless.

- 

"Did you see Malfoy at dinner?"

"She was livid; Riddle never showed up."

"I'll bet you anything that he was off in a broom closet somewhere with that Revenclaw that's been throwing herself at him."

"Wish I was so lucky."

The common room was probably the worst place to do homework, but Myrtle had procrastinated until the last moment before curfew; opting to spend the time, with Bakura, away from prying, gossiping, eyes. Now she was hiding behind a mound of make-up work from that morning.

Even if she had never worked up the nerve to cross examine him about his meeting, with Bakura beside her, and the whispering of her classmates being anything but about her, even the looming dread of Hornby's retribution could not dampen what might actually have been happy fuzziness flowing through Myrtle's veins.


	25. Rage

Rage

Bakura lay sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling with eyes that burned dangerously. His stomach grumbled but he ignored it, not wanting to face Myrtle like this. The rage that had consumed him in Egypt that had driven him to swear his revenge on the Pharaoh for the crimes his father had perpetrated and that had been the death of many other innocent people had returned.

It was different this time, but the slow burning in his chest, and the pain in his eyes was the same. This time he felt… alone. Always before the rage had been accompanied by the voices of his people and the strange, niggling sensation of someone watching him. Now it was only himself and the burning fury he felt at knowing the Pharaoh lived.

There was no reason for him to feel this way. It wasn't even this Pharaoh that had given the order; he had been only a child at the time. The way he felt was irrational and Bakura knew it, but that didn't stop him from hating the man, or from wanting to tear him apart and listen to him scream.

Even worse than that was the fact that if he did so he would be making himself as bad as the Pharaoh had been. This Pharaoh had done nothing to merit his enmity, unless you counted throwing him in the dungeons when he'd tried to kill the god-king, which Bakura felt he probably deserved. Without the voices screaming at him for revenge and pleading to be sent on to the afterlife which had been denied them he could think clearly – clearly enough to realize just how despicable his actions had been.

Swearing, he gave up on trying to reason himself out of it and headed up through the castle to the Great Hall, feeling his wet hair dripping down his back. Things took so long to dry in this cold country. Shivering slightly, he took his accustomed seat next to Myrtle and reached for the food.

"Did you sleep through the bell or something?" Myrtle asked him curiously, pushing away her empty plate. "There's only a few minutes left before we have to leave for our first class."

Despite the fact that he didn't really want to be questioned about this, he smiled. Myrtle was finally starting to think for herself and go after what she wanted. "I lost track of the time," he lied smoothly, digging into his food. "If I hadn't gotten so hungry I don't know whether I would have come down at all." Myrtle laughed, her attention successfully diverted, and changed the subject.

"You know, yesterday in class Professor Binns mentioned something about a split between merpeople and wizards. I didn't know that they had been close once, did you?"

Bakura snorted, and shook his head. "Myrtle, it's my first year and I never even heard of the wizarding world when Dippet found me. How exactly am I supposed to have heard about something like that?" He was smiling though, cheered up by her cheerful attitude and innocent assumption of his goodness. Bakura himself might not have believed that he was a good person, but as far as he could tell Myrtle had never even thought that he might not be, and that was more comforting than he liked to admit.

He shoved the last of his toast into his mouth, nodded to her, and fled, trying to get himself together before the first class. His hands were shaking as he stuffed the last of his books into his bag, grabbed a quill and inkpot and headed out to his first class, and he held them in front of his face as he walked, glaring until he felt his anger burn out the last of the reaction. It had been so long – and at the same time such a little while ago that he had been trying to kill the Pharaoh with a single-minded determination that had scared him even then. Now that he knew the man was still alive how could he not react to it?

The real question, he decided as he took his seat and let his quill take the teacher's dictation, was how could he stop himself from falling into that pattern again? He could feel that it was more than just his own anger that was fueling this desire to kill, but he couldn't tell what, nor was his memory of the past clear enough for him to say whether or not this other force had been active at the time. If he got rid of this presence, however… Bakura smiled, bowing his head to hide the disturbing expression, and made a note to himself. It was time to return to the library.

A/N

So, the entire reason Anie and I have not updated this story is not because we don't have more chapters written, in fact we have about twenty more chapters written, it's just we haven't written any more since I last updated so I haven't remembered to update :p

So, hopefully I will be updating, and someday I might even get around to writing the last chapter or two that we never got around to : )

Hope you enjoy


	26. How old are you?

How old are you?

Myrtle watched as Bakura shoved the last of his toast into his mouth, a frown pulling at the back of her mind, even as her mouth twisted into a smile. What was he hiding?

Her wonderings of the afternoon before, of whether the almighty Bakura was actually afraid of something returned to frolic around the meadow of her mind; he wanted her to be more confident, and if they were dating… Shouldn't she know a little more about this titan, who had fallen so haphazardly into her life? Or would it just drive him away? Was it worth it?

Finishing the last crumbs of her own breakfast, Myrtle began to make a list of things she did not know, and probably should, about Bakura; if she ever worked up the nerve to ask him. Thinking it over as she began the pilgrimage to her first class, she began to realize just how little of him she knew. How old was he? Where, exactly, was he from? Who were his family?

Remembering the strange agitated flicker in his eyes over the small bit of breakfast they had shared, Myrtle stilled her whirling brain to concentrate upon Professor Binns and his monotonous monotones on the formation of a separate wizarding government.

Bakura was silent over lunch; his eyes locked on the plate before him as he transported the sustenance from the plate, unto his fork, and into his mouth.

Myrtle decided it probably wasn't the best time to be questioning him; something was obviously bothering him. She could think of an entire list of excuses, if she actually sat down to do it; it was useless though, he looked rather preoccupied, so she obviously shouldn't bother him.

But he certainly would have bothered her, and then probably discarded her excuses as ridiculous; why should she be any nicer?

Because, no matter how much bolder she felt, she was still Myrtle the mouse.

"Is everything alright?" She finally forced the question out over her half eaten plate.

"Yeah." His voice was not as commanding as usual, and Myrtle wondered if she should question it, but his look effectively silenced her; and the next few minutes were filled with silent masticating.

"Myrtle, do you think I'm a good person?" The abrupt question took Myrtle by surprise, and it took a moment for her to collect the obvious answer.

"Yes, I do believe you to be." She offered, perhaps overly tentative.

"See you at dinner then," and he was gone.

Now he was only acting stranger and stranger; she should have asked him at least one question. How offensive could the question , when were you born, be?

At dinner, Bakura was there to greet her, and almost seemed cheerful, for him anyway.

"Bakura would you mind if I asked you something?" Myrtle began, placing her fork down slowly, and taking a deep breath before looking back up at the top of her companion's head.

"Sure…" Bakura's reply was slow in coming, and slow in delivery; as if she was pulling out his toe nails for the answer.

"I was just thinking, since I spend so much time with you, and I've told you the few things that are interesting about me, that it would only be fare if you answered a few questions for-" Myrtle began to slowly, and began to fall into a babbling nothingness, which Bakura halted with a slight narrowing of the eyes.

"You wanted to ask a question."

"Don't take any offense to it- anyway. I was just wondering, how old you are exactly?"

And that was the moment, as the blood was already flowing up into Myrtle's cheeks, that the pumpkin pasties decided to explode over them.

"What the?" Bakura blinked as he attempted to wipe the mushy pumpkiny substance out of his line of site as ruckus laughter burst out at the other end of the Slytherin table, and the rest of the Great Hall turned to look.

Oh, she was soooo dead; burnt in shame, Myrtle leaned over and buried her face in her plastered arms.

"Don't just sit there and cry about it." Bakura's was obviously trying to not blow up at her, but she could tell it was hard; he poked her a few times to get her attention. "You must know some charm to clean all this up."

"I know how to clean up the pumpkin mess, but everyone is staring at us and laughing." Myrtle moaned; still not looking up.

"You can use magic, or I'll do it the good old fashioned way, and throw you into the lake." Bakura snapped, meeting Myrtle's slowly rising eyes with a pointed look.

Myrtle fumbled for a moment before procuring her wand. "We're technically not allowed to do magic in the halls I don't think; could we not do it right in front of the teachers?" Myrtle mumbled; her eyes dropping from Bakura's to her plate.

With a loud sigh Bakura snatched up Myrtle's hand, and pulled her, not that unwillingly, out of the Great Hall, through the Entranceway, down a side corridor, and finally stopped in a small alcove to the side. "Is this secluded enough for you?"

Myrtle's tongue flickered nervously over her suddenly dry lips as she nodded; less then a foot separated them. "Scourgify." The word was barely obove a whisper, but it did the trick, and they were left smelling faintly of pumpkin.

"I believe you had a question." Bakura's voice rang out above her downturn face, not unkindly.

"I just wondered…" Myrtle gulped, and looked up to face him. "How old are you?"


	27. I’m really 3067 years old

I'm really 3067 years old

The question floored him. He had been half-expecting to have to lie to her, but he'd never thought she'd ask him a question like this. He… "I don't know," he admitted after a moment, sounding surprised and hating himself for it. Counting the seasons had never been a priority for him, and that wasn't even taking into account the fact that he had been driven insane by the constant screaming of his family's spirits.

Yanking his thoughts back to the present he saw that Myrtle was staring at him with open surprise and a hint of pity. "How can you not know how old you are?" The question was incredulous, as though she expected to be told that she'd heard wrong or he'd been lying or something.

Bakura shrugged. "I don't believe I ever thought about it. At a guess I'd say I was maybe thirteen or fourteen. Probably closer to fourteen," He shifted uncomfortably. The idea along with what Myrtle had been saying earlier made him think about courting, which was something he'd never even considered before, but which Myrtle seemed to be trying to do with him. It was a bit awkward, he thought, but that was all right. He hadn't expected anything else, and it wasn't as though he had anything to compare it to.

Even so… they were close enough, he thought, that he could ask her. "Hey Myrtle, can you help me with something?" It was difficult to ask for help. He was used to being on his own in a world where asking someone for help was an admission of weakness and was likely to bring the very person you'd approached down on your head trying to take you for all you were worth. This place was much less violent, as he'd seen earlier when that boy, Quintus, tried to intimidate him. He hadn't actually hurt him, just spelled him into silence, which was a pretty stupid thing to do really. It wasn't as though not being able to speak was anything more than a minor annoyance, after all.

"Of course." Myrtle was smiling at him as though he'd just given her a ton of gold. "I'd love to help you. What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find as much information as possible on ghosts, possession, and mental influence." His fingers were twisting together nervously, he noted, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. It probably wouldn't reveal anything important about his past to tell her that he thought something was messing with his thoughts and emotions, but he still wasn't willing to reveal quite that much weakness yet. Still, if she asked… maybe he could tell her. If it would help…

It was then that Bakura realised he hadn't been bothered by the presence once since beginning to talk with Myrtle. The aftereffects of being ready to kill were still making him short-tempered, but he wasn't actually angry anymore. Perhaps… he looked over Myrtle's head – not difficult with her height – at the other Slytherins, and felt his natural condescension towards them magnified into something cold and deadly, but this time it didn't worry him. The idea made him feel relieved. If all the presence could do was magnify and twist his emotions rather than manufacturing new ones for him then maybe he would be all right after all. Maybe it would be weak enough for him to kill it.


	28. Control

Control

"Pryor has him cornered."

Myrtle pushed away the sniggers of passing Slytherins; the passage was not so deserted since dinner had ended. Instead she gazed up at Bakura, who was looking past her, his eyes sparkling with flashes of heightened dislike bordering on cold hatred; she took an unconscious step backward.

"So…" Myrtle trailed off, as Bakura refocused on her; the disturbing flicker leaving his eyes.

"You don't have much work to do, do you?"

Myrtle shook her head.

"You don't mind starting right away do you then?" Bakura's inquiry was genuine and almost anxious.

A few scant weeks were not much to derive normal behavior from, but Myrtle felt whatever tentative thesis she had derived were being shattered by this abstractly human behavior.

"Sure." Thankfully, this time Bakura didn't grab her arm and drag her off, and they were able to walk along like normal people; Myrtle wondered what it would be like to hold his hand again.

"Is there any particular reason why you need to know about… that stuff?" Myrtle asked, after they reached the end of a lengthy corridor, and were about to turn left; looking sideways through her hair she noted his head turning slightly away, to the side.

Fingers briefly brushed against her palm, followed by groping fingertips that linked around her own; sending a giddy shiver up her spine.

"As I said, I'm trying to learn as much as I can about things that could control a person." It would seem like he was trying to lightly brush her off, but the mention of controlling people only heightened Myrtle's apprehension; at least that was semi normal for him.

"All right." Bighting back any and all of her apprehensions; Myrtle glanced sideways, and up, at Bakura, only to receive a reassuring quirk at the edge of his lips, a half smile.

That was enough questions for one day; he wasn't making her do anything she shouldn't… So he obviously was still perfect, right?


	29. Demons

Demons

Bakura heaved a sigh and shoved his chair back. They'd been at this for hours and he still hadn't found anything that seemed as though it could apply to the presence that still lingered at the back of his mind. Myrtle had scrounged up a huge pile of books and they were going through them one by one. Some of the things he had learned were interesting, but none of them were useful.

Seeing that Myrtle had stopped her own work to look at him, he smiled, feeling the expression pull generally unused muscles, and stretched. "I think it's about time to stop don't you?" He asked mildly, gesturing at the windows, which showed just how late it was. "If we leave now we can probably get into the common room before curfew."

Myrtle nodded, eyes wide, and scrabbled the books into a neater pile before grabbing his hand and bolting from the library. Bakura snatched the book he had been working on and took it with him, hoping that he would be able to find something useful before he snapped and killed someone.

They did indeed reach the common room in time, and Bakura leaned against the wall as Myrtle collapsed, breathing heavily, obviously winded by their sprint through the castle. "Sorry about that," he said quietly after a few moments. "I didn't realize just how late it was. Are you all right?"

The girl smiled at him, the expression transforming her face from rather plain to quite pretty, and so familiar that he felt a sudden rush of vertigo. She looked more like she belonged in Kemet than he did. "I'm fine," she responded, then yawned. "I probably should have realized what time it was myself." Bakura didn't know what to say to that, since he felt it would be rude to agree, but he couldn't exactly argue with what she'd said. Instead, he settled for shrugging again – something he was doing a lot of recently – and heading for his room, book tucked under one arm.

He slid into bed and opened the book to the place where he'd left it. He might have been wrong, but it had looked as though it was close to talking about something useful when he'd realised how little light was coming in the windows. Turning his attention to the page, he began to read.

'The higher demons can sometimes penetrate the barriers between the realms and come through into our realm in a physical form. As detailed earlier in this book demons feed on the death energies of humans and animals. For this reason a massacre or natural disaster can allow a demon to thin the barriers between the realms enough for them to influence mortals to do their will.

'Demons gain more energy from a murder than from an accidental death, and magical rituals which involve death are so likely to catch the attention of a demon that they have been outlawed for this very reason. Before this information was discovered criminals who were sentenced to death were often used in these rituals, but there is so much danger inherent in the killing of other humans, especially those with magic in their blood, that such rituals are no longer used except in situations of last resort.'

The next few paragraphs were detailing the types of rituals most likely to call a demon to touch the mortal plane, and Bakura skimmed over them, seeing that most called for the death of only one or two people. If even killing one person could summon a demon what would the death of a hundred do? Putting the book away and closing his eyes, Bakura fell asleep thinking of Zoku, the one who had called himself a dark god. If he was a demon, then maybe…


	30. Attack!

Attack!!

"Did you see her at dinner?" Myrtle woke to Hornby's none too discreet whispers.

"It was so funny." A gleeful snigger emanated from somewhere beyond Myrtle's curtains.

"She turned bright as a tomato."

"And then everyone practically ran over them when we left dinner, hiding in that nook."

Quickly sitting up, Myrtle threw aside her curtains to glare at a neatly groomed and all too awake Hornby and companion, who smirked back at her and her wild bed head.

"Sleeping beauty has arisen." Turning their noses up in the air the pair left to bother other, probably more deserving, people.

Rolling her eyes, and refusing to care at all, Myrtle slipped out of bed, and performed her rather brief and simple toilet for hr bland looks.

"All they ever do is babble on and on forever, about absolutely nothing." Bakura commented mildly, his eyes riveted over Myrtle's right shoulder; his fork absently stirring at the fruit arrayed on his plate.

"You are the one who told me to ignore them." Myrtle noted, moving her head an imperceptibly to the right to meet his gaze; his eyes now locked on hers, he seemed to relax as he shrugged off her comment. "Are you alright?"

"Yes."

Myrtle blushed slightly under his gaze; it had been a stupid question, and wasted any other opportunities she might have had to ask more constructive questions.

"Sorry about keeping you out so late." Bakura's eyes fell to his plate, and he began to eat with earnest.

That was a nice, convenient change in subject, Myrtle noted; mentally rolling her eyes. "It was nothing." She mumbled, her eyes flitting up the table to focus on anything that was not the male specimen in front of her; he seemed to be hedging around something, and it made her extremely uncomfortable.

Water and soap mixed and lathered as Myrtle washed her hands, and checked her hair subconsciously in the mirror to see if it was looking more horrible then usual; she was going to study with Bakura in the library, and technically she was already late.

"Pryor."

"Hornby?" Myrtle turned slowly to face her unexpected company; subconsciously wiping her damp hands on her skirt.

"I think moaning old four eyes is getting a little too full of herself." Hornby commented to the two or three hangers on behind her.

"Is that so?" Myrtle asked, entirely unimpressed with her enemies little speech; her hand clasped her wand, slowly drawing it out, as she made to move around Hornby.

"I do think so." Hornby took two quick steps forward to break off any of Myrtle's escape routes, and brought up her own wand to push her prey's out of the way. "What with you and your little Bakura dolly hiding out in little nooks and crannies during dinner."

"We were not." A furious blush forcibly covered Myrtle's face, as she fought to keep her voice steady.

"That's painfully obvious; I mean, Bakura obviously must be some sort of eunuch to pass off real girls like Rosemerta, and us, for such a plain, bespectacled midget like yourself." Taking another step forward Hornby loomed over Myrtle, sneering down at her as she pressed her wand into the other girl's cheek.

Myrtle fought back an illogical wave of tears that seemed bound and determined to break past her eyes and gush down her face like some spontaneous waterfall; instead she shoved Hornby very hard, "Get away from me you jealous cow!" She made to sprint out of the bathroom, and tripped over one of the other girls' foot.

"Cow!" Hornby screeched from somewhere above Myrtle head, as weight, approximate to two of the bone thin girls who accompanied the witch, came down on Myrtle's back with surprising force; effectively pinning her for a minute or two as she struggled, and Hornby, presumably, tried to think.

"Locomotor Mortis." Myrtle felt her legs stiffen as the weight lessened and she began to be dragged across the cobblestone floor, and into a bathroom stall, and farther and farther from her wand.

"We'll just lock you up without your little boy toy then." Hornby sneered at Myrtle as she was propped up on a toilet, before the door slammed. "Colloportus."

And that was that; Myrtle sat there, stunned, for several moments, trying to figure out what had just happened, and how, exactly, she now found herself locked in a bathroom stall without a wand, and without the use of her legs.

Myrtle was angry. Tears tried fought to be shed, and that made her even madder; she propped her legs up and slammed them against the cubicle door. She wanted to scream down curses on their heads, but her throat was dry for want of tears and she couldn't force them out; she could only beat on her prison walls.


	31. In the girl’s toilet

In the girl's toilet

A dull thudding sound caught Bakura's attention as he headed down the hall in the direction that girl had said Myrtle was. Frowning slightly, he veered off, shoving open the door from which the sounds seemed to be coming. It was a bathroom.

He looked around, taking in the rows of stalls and trying to figure out what was causing the noise that had caught his attention. Ah, there it was. One of the stalls was shaking, as if someone was trying to break it down. Considering the situation for a moment, Bakura decided that whoever was inside would probably forgive him for breaking in on them.

Catching hold of the handle, he braced his foot against the stall and heaved it backwards, pulling the flimsy door right off its hinges and sending him staggering backwards with the force of his pull. He had been expecting it to be more difficult, subconsciously bracing himself for the kind of resistance that the stone sarcophagi presented. Recovering himself, Bakura stepped close enough to see inside the stall and blinked, brows flying upward as he surveyed the scene in front of him.

Myrtle lay on the floor, blinking up at him through watery eyes, her legs held together at what had to be a very awkward angle from where she had obviously been using them to slam against the stall door. "Are you all right?" he asked, reaching down a hand to help her up.

She took his hand, but didn't try to get to her feet, instead shaking her head and asking him to get her wand. "They used the leg-locker curse on me and I need to break it before I can get up." Bakura nodded and went over to pick up the discarded wand lying in a corner, bringing it over so that Myrtle could undo the curse.

"So what happened?" he asked, leaning against the plastic of the stall and watching as Myrtle tried to work the cramps out of her legs. "I asked that girl, Crouse, where you were and she said she'd seen you go through here, but that doesn't explain what actually happened to you."

"Crouse?" Myrtle's head snapped up and she stared at him. "She told you I was here? But she was one of the ones who did this to me!"

"I see," Bakura nodded, bending down to help Myrtle to her feet. "That would probably explain why she looked so scared when I asked her where you were." He wrinkled his nose in disgust and kicked the stall door out of his way as he helped the limping girl back to their common room. "I should probably go tell someone that's broken," he added mildly.

Myrtle shook her head. "You shouldn't really have been in there, although I am glad you came to rescue me. I don't want you to get in trouble over it. Just leave things as they are and someone will report it."

Shrugging, Bakura lifted her over the step and deposited the surprised girl onto one of the green couches that lined the walls of the Slytherin common room before running upstairs to get the book he had been reading last night. He hadn't had a chance to look at it since, but as it didn't look like Myrtle was in any shape to be walking to the library today he might as well see if there was anything else useful in it.

He settled on the sofa next to her, found his place and resumed reading as Myrtle curled up against his shoulder and rested her chin on his shoulder so she could see what he was reading. Courteously, he held the book up for her perusal, rereading the section that had caught his attention last night to make sure that it really did say what he had thought. If his suspicions were correct, then Zoku was a demon – had always been a demon – and was still here, trying to manipulate him into working with him once again.

It did make sense. He had wondered even then why the priest's soul monster would desert his own ba, but he had been so eager to get to the Pharaoh that he had disregarded the contradictory nature of the being and gone ahead anyway. Looking back at it now, he thought that if he had followed the plan that Zoku had laid out for him he would have almost certainly ended up killing a lot of people, which would have sat with a demon perfectly.

"Myrtle," he began mildly, turning to look at her and seeing her wide eyes and the way she was staring at the book he was holding. "How do you find a demon's name?"


	32. I think I’m possessed

I think I'm possessed

"Uhhh, no." Myrtle replied tentatively. "I'm not sure if we ever get taught things like that." She continued; trying to be at least a little helpful. "Why do you ask?"

"Well…" Bakura flipped to the next page; stared for a moment or two at the gruesome diagram of mass sacrifices that spread across the entire double page. "I think I am being possessed by a demon, and while I know how to get rid of it, I need to know its name first."

"That would be a good reason." Myrtle admitted, after a few shocked seconds. That wasn't quite the reason she had been looking for when she began to wonder why he seemed to be acting strange.

"Yeah…" Bakura took a deep breath, and seemed to be waiting for something.

"Are you going to be ok?" Myrtle inquired, lifting her head from his shoulder and looking up at him seriously.

"I think so; he's weak, and can only magnify my negative feelings." Bakura explained, his eyes focusing on her, and then drifting away at the end to watch the fire.

Unsurprisingly, the silence dragged out, and Myrtle found herself staring blankly at a pair of first years, some of the rooms only other occupants; that wouldn't be the case for all that much longer, so if there were any questions to be asked, they had to be asked now.

"How did you become possessed, do you think?"

Bakura seemed to think over his answer carefully. "I don't know; it's from before your people found me." He finally decided on.

"Where was that exactly?"

"Kemet."

"That isn't exactly helpful; where is that?"

"I don't really know."

Well, that part seemed to be truthful; he had blurted it out, and he seemed respectably chagrined not to be able to answer her questions.

"I guess you can't just go ask a professor can you." Myrtle thought it over.

"No." Bakura agreed firmly. "My presence already makes enough people uncomfortable." His voice was hardly above a breath, but sent a prickle up Myrtle's spine anyway.

"As I said, I don't think that they teach us much about demons in Hogwarts." Myrtle looked down at her hands, picking absently at a scab on a knuckle, and then watching the blood slowly ooze out. "You've looked through all the books in the library?"

"Almost," Bakura nodded in accent. "And none of them have mentioned how to name a demon."

"And you're sure you won't go crazy?" Myrtle inquired, her lips pursing slightly, revealing some anxiety; as her eyes fell once more to the graphic depiction in the tome.

"I am." Bakura closed the book, and waited for Myrtle to look up at him. "He has been greatly weakened, and can only manipulate already existing feelings to get me to do his will."

"Well, there might be something about demons in the restricted section; after all, Hogwarts library is used by people other than students." Myrtle reasoned. "But, unless you actually tell a professor your problem, I'm not sure if we could even get in to look."

"Then they would try and fix me." Something near to fear flickered behind Bakura's eyes as he firmly dismissed that idea. "You have to promise," The door in and out of the common room banged shut, and Bakura leant even closer to Myrtle then they already were; so his breath brushed softly over the skin of her face. "Not to tell anyone."

Hornby's unmistakable shriek of laughter filled the common room. "Pryor is kissing, how gross!"


	33. Teapots

Teapots

It had been several months since their quest to find Zoku's true name, but Bakura had finally done it. There it was, halfway through the final volume of the series Myrtle had checked out. Zoku Necrophadisu, the high-ranking demon believed to have been banished during the reign of Atemu, Pharaoh of Egypt, in a massive ceremony that had killed the Pharaoh and his priests as well as the sacrifice they had intended to use in order to bind the demon to their will.

There could be no question that this was the correct name. Not only was the first part of the name the same as that Zoku had given him when inciting him to break into the palace and take his revenge on the Pharaoh, once reminded, he began to remember bits of that sacrifice. They had drugged the food that they gave him, so he had walked into the room docilely and lay on the altar as one of the priests bent over him with a knife. The next thing he could remember was waking up in the Hogwarts infirmary.

All he had to do now was to wait for Myrtle to get back from her 'Christmas break' at home with the things he had asked for and try not to kill anyone until she got back. Smiling slightly, he picked up his bag and headed off to his first class of the day – Professor Dumbledore's special Transfiguration lessons. Since he was so much older than the rest of the students in his year, the teachers were giving him special lessons in order to get him caught up to the rest of the students his age. He was doing well enough that they thought if he stayed over summer vacation as well he would be able to skip straight into the third year after this year's exams.

The teacher was waiting for him in the otherwise empty classrooms, a box of animals on the desk in front of him and a strangely-shaped pot beside the box. "Today we will be learning how to turn a turtle into a teapot. You must concentrate on finding the inherent similarities between a turtle and this teapot. The word is purusorca." Professor Dumbledore sat back and picked up his work, grading student's papers as Bakura tried to figure out what he could see on a turtle that had any relation at all to the teapot thing that he was supposed to be turning it into.

Well, they had the same general shape, he supposed. If the turtle was just a little rounder and taller then they'd be the same. Focusing on the image of the teapot, Bakura pointed his wand and said "Purusorca." For a moment nothing happened, then just as he'd envisioned the turtle swelled up, becoming rounder and flatter on the bottom, head arching upwards and hardening as the legs receded into the base. The tail curled up, stretching and sliding up further along the turtle's back until it became a handle. Bakura smiled and picked up the jade teapot, admiring the way that the scaly neck was formed. It was an interesting animal, and the vessel had turned out better than he had hoped, looking almost as though it was fit for the Pharaoh's table.

"Here," he said quietly, placing the finished vessel on the desk and waiting for the Professor to pay attention to it. After a few moments, Dumbledore picked up the teapot and examined it, turning it around in his hands and examining the details. "Well, it's definitely a teapot, and it looks beautiful, but it would be better for your grades if you could make something that looks more like the one on the desk. Have a lemon drop?"

Bakura shook his head, murmured "No thank you," and reached for another turtle. A white teapot, smooth, with little flowers painted on the sides. He could do that.


	34. Christmas presents

Christmas presents

Myrtle moved among the flood of students returning to Hogwarts after Christmas vacation, a small wrapped package clutched in her left pocket.

'Bakura, I got you something for Christmas.' 'People normally get each other things for Christmas; I got you this.' 'This is for you.' Myrtle's fingers curled and uncurled around the package as she walked up the stairs to the library.

'How was Christmas vacation?' 'Did your special classes go well?' 'Did you miss me?' It didn't take long for Myrtle to find him; she already knew that he would be in the back somewhere. "Did you find out what we needed?"

Bakura looked up from the parchment he had been carefully writing on. "Yeah; it was in the final volume." Rolling his eyes, he placed the quill aside. "Did you get what we needed?"

"Yes." Myrtle nodded hastily, and sat down across from him. "I left it in my trunk though; do you mind?"

Bakura shook his head. "We should try it tomorrow; if you don't mind."

"I finished all my homework before I left." Myrtle paused; thinking about the package, probably melting, in her pocket. "How did your classes go?"

"Well enough; I really think I could be catching up soon, if my classes this summer go as well."

"So Christmas vacation went well?"

"I guess so; it was sort of boring though." Bakura offered her a half smile; breaking a very bored look that had stretched out uninterrupted until that point.

Myrtle couldn't help but smile; that was probably the closest to 'I missed you' she would get, or be willing to dig for.

"Dinner is in a few minutes." Myrtle noted, her eyes falling from Bakura's face, to the parchment he had been scribbling on. "What were you doing?"

"Just taking some notes for potions; I'm taking a progress test on Sunday." Bakura replied, checked the ink, and rolled up the parchment; dropping it into his bag.

"Perhaps you should check the pot; we could go down to the common room and I could go get it." Myrtle suggested tentatively. She should give him the present; what was she saying?

"I'm sure it's fine." Bakura's tone was somewhat clipped, but then he sighed; visibly relaxing. "The feelings are getting stronger, but it can all wait for tomorrow, and then it'll all, hopefully, be over." He paused for only a moment before moving quickly on to another topic. "By the time we get down there, it will probably be dinner time."

"Ok." Standing at the same time, Myrtle accepted his offered hand, and leaned into him slightly as they walked down to the Great Hall; even with all her family around her, there was nothing to replace this feeling.

"So, what did you do over Christmas vacation?" Bakura asked as they sat down; their arrival in the entrance hall had been only a few moments before the Great Hall's doors opened to admit the students to dinner.

"Well…" Myrtle thought over his question as she served herself mashed potatoes and chicken. "My brother was home; so we all went to see the Nutcracker." Bakura's blank look interrupted her. "It's a performance; a sort of dance thing with music and singing." Myrtle quickly explained, to his near satisfaction; some things seemed impossible to explain to him. "On Christmas we visited my mother's mother and father, and my two aunts, and three cousins were all there; we had a huge dinner."

"Sounds interesting," Bakura nibbled at a roll; his eyes turning somewhat vacant, as if his mind was far from there.

"Bakura." Myrtle took a deep breath as the boy's eyes refocused on her. "People give each other things for Christmas; so I got you something."

Reaching deep into her pocket, it took Myrtle a moment to retrieve the package; dropping it in front of Bakura as if it had bitten her. "I hope you like it; I couldn't think of anything at first, and…" Myrtle trailed off nervously, wondering if he would blow up at her for being timid.


	35. You eat it?

You eat it?

"Oh. Well, thanks." Bakura took the present gingerly and began to open the brightly wrapped package, pausing when he'd just gotten the tape off to add quietly, "I didn't get you anything though, so maybe I shouldn't take this."

Myrtle shook her head, visibly tense. "It's all right. I didn't really expect you to. Just open it."

Smiling slightly, Bakura obeyed, unwrapping the small box and looking at the pale beige box with geometric designs on the edges. He slanted Myrtle a curious look, then opened the box and blinked at the little brown things nestled inside white paper squares. "What are they?" he asked after a moment, picking one up and feeling the slightly sticky texture of the brown cube.

The look on Myrtle's face made him snort with laughter, and he shook his head at her. "What?"

"You…" she giggled, shaking her head. "It's chocolate. You eat it."

"Right." Bakura nodded, gave the earthy thing a dubious look, then took a bite. It tasted strange, sort of like berries, but with a spicy richness that reminded him of honey. He took another bite as the first melted away into nothing, letting the creamy flavor spread through his mouth, and smiled. "It's delicious Myrtle. I love it."

She was watching him, a fond, slightly dreamy look on her face. "I can tell." The smile on her face was echoed in her voice, and she rested her chin on her hands, looking at his reaction to her gift. He smiled back, not sure what had made her look at him like that, but liking the expression on her face, and liked knowing that he was the one who made her smile.

"Oh look," Hornby sneered, her approach wiping the smile off Myrtle's face in an instant. "The little failure returns. Did your family kick you out? Couldn't wait to be rid of you could they?"

Myrtle's fists clenched, but Bakura got there before she could, shoving himself to his feet and grabbing the girl by the collar of her robes, smirking at her terrified face. "Bakura?" Myrtle squeaked from behind him, sounding scared, and he came back to his senses, the red haze clearing away from his vision as he realised what he had been about to do.

"Keep your mouth shut for a change Hornby," he growled at her, and shoved her away snarling disgustedly as she scuttled backwards on her hands and knees, trying to get away from him. Good mood forgotten, he snatched up the present Myrtle had given him and stalked out of the common room, leaving the girl to trail after him, catching his sleeve moments after he reached the safety of the hallway. "Hey are you all right? That – you looked really scary for a moment there."

Taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down, Bakura collapsed against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, legs loosely bent in front of him. "I'm fine now. We're doing this tomorrow right? I don't think it can wait much longer." Myrtle nodded, and sat next to him, wrapping her arms around her knees and trying to smile. "Definitely. I don't think I want to risk leaving you like this for any longer than I have to. You – I thought you were going to kill her."

Bakura's lips twisted in a sardonic smile. "I was, Myrtle. That's the problem. If you hadn't stopped me I might have killed her." He finished the thought in his mind, not wanting Myrtle to hear his thoughts on this particular matter. 'Because I most certainly wanted to.'


	36. Chocolate steak

Chocolate steak

Myrtle went to bed troubled that night; the seconds of Bakura standing over Hornby playing over and over again in her mind. Had he meant what he said? It must be the demon talking.

Thoughts rushed from end of her mind to the other, Myrtle found it near impossible to fall asleep; when she finally did, it was only to fall into disturbing dreams.

It was her living room, at least it seemed to be; she had been there all too recently, but something about the room seemed wrong, even without noting any lack of Christmas decorations.

Walking slowly into her kitchen, Myrtle was confronted by the back of a familiar head of white hair. What was Bakura doing in her kitchen? Eating very rare…

Bakura turned at her entry to reveal a glowing and bloody smile. "Want some?" He offered, proffering a lump of raw meat.

"What?" Myrtle reached out automatically, but pulled it quickly back as soon as he dropped his gift into her hand.

"Steak; you eat it." Bakura explained, taking another bite from his own share.

"Isn't it bad for you?"

"Try it."

Bringing up to her mouth, Myrtle's nose flinched back from the putrid smell, but she somehow took a bite anyway. It was rubbery and slimy, and slipped out from between her teeth when she tried to bite it; it tasted like chocolate. "It's not what I expected."

"She might look like a witch, but Hornby doesn't taste that bad; after she shuts up."

"He's a killer. Did you see what he did last night?"

"She's his weak link."

Myrtle woke to the sound of indistinct voices, but when she'd finally untangled herself from her mussed sheets and blankets, there was no one in her dormitory. It was probably Hornby, but who knows.

What had that dream been about? All this talk of demons and human sacrifices was finally getting to her, but it would all be over soon.

Today was the day.

Scuttling around between her trunk and the bathroom, Myrtle got dressed in what seemed like record time, and nearly danced down the stairs to the common room; running a hand over her head to make sure her hair was lying as flat as possible.

"Well, at least someone's happy." Bakura muttered; getting up languidly, and walking towards the exit, under the harsh gaze of just about every Slytherin, first through fourth year; his mood was obviously degraded.

"When?" Myrtle asked, as they walked through almost empty corridors.

"After breakfast."

"Where?"

"I found somewhere over break."

"Do you have any family?" Myrtle blurted out the question without even thinking, and immediately wished she could pull it back, as misery, fury, and coldness washed over his face.

"They are all dead; a long time ago." Bakura, who seemed to have regained some rough control over his emotions, finally replied as the glassy look left his eyes that had almost suggested tears.

Myrtle tried not to slurp her oatmeal, not look at Bakura, and not say anything else stupid, for the rest of the meal.


	37. Zoku Necrophadisu – the evil pot

Zoku Necrophadisu – the evil pot

Myrtle's pale fingers held a simple earthen pot carefully in place as Bakura wrote Zoku's full name on it, chanting under his breath as he did so. It had been nearly an hour already and he had not yet finished the name, but he was willing to take as long as he had to in order to make sure that he had it exactly right. After all, if he didn't write the name properly then the ritual would have no effect.

Tongue between his teeth, Bakura finished the last stroke and sat back on his heels, breathing a sigh of relief. "There." He put the brush out of the way and stood, stretching his legs, which had begun to go numb after staying in the same position for so long. "Now, we need to wait until the ink's dry, so I'll go start digging. You know how to create a fire magically right?" He waited for her affirmative nod before continuing. "All right then, why don't you clear a space for one outside so we don't burn the place down, and I'll meet you back here when I'm done. Sound good?"

The girl nodded, letting go of the pot and waving her hands in the air frantically, trying to work some feeling back into them. "I'm glad we can finally get this over with. This has been starting to worry me."

Bakura nodded, snatching a trowel from the pile in the back of the shed and heading out the back. They were in one of the old gardening sheds close to the Forbidden Forest, out of the way of castle where it would be unlikely that anyone would see them, even if they were looking. Smirking, he knelt and began to dig a hole at the boundary of the forest, making it as deep as possible. The pot would be only shards and ashes when they were finished, but he still wanted them buried as deeply as possible.

By the time he had the hole dug out to his satisfaction, his hands were scratched and covered in dirt, and his knees and back ached, but he was ready for them to move on. Making his way back to the shack, he found that Myrtle had gotten there ahead of him and was waiting for him to arrive. The now dry pot was resting on a piece of cloth so that they wouldn't lose any of the shards, and she was holding a thick stick, which she handed to him, picking up another for herself.

He began to chant again, calling on the powers that be to aid them in sending this demon away, concentrating on destroying the name, and thus the demon who owned it and of whom it was a symbol. Face twisted into a snarl, he began to smash the pot to pieces, imagining that he was hurting the demon who had taken over his life. Myrtle gave him a startled, almost frightened glance, then seemed to steel herself as she joined him, pounding away at the ceramic until there was nothing left larger than his thumbnail.

Panting, Bakura shook off the flakes of ceramic that remained on his makeshift club onto the fabric, and set it down, letting Myrtle carry the bundle of fabric and clinking tile to the large area she had cleared away earlier. The girl dumped her burden in the center, then pulled out her wand, pointed it at the lumpy bundle, and said, "Incendio," in a clear voice. Moments later, blue flames leapt up, burning away the outer fabric covering in seconds, and beginning to work on the shattered remains of 'Zoku Necrophadisu'.

Smiling slightly, Bakura took a seat on the springy turf, and reached up to tug Myrtle down beside him. The sight of his enemy's name going up in flames was surprisingly satisfying. Perhaps it was the thrill of knowing that he would no longer be bothered by the demon that made it so.

Myrtle was yawning sleepily by the time the fire had burned down, and Bakura stepped forward to collect the ashes, digging up some of the turf underneath what remained of their work so as to be sure he hadn't missed anything. He was grinning as he dumped it all into the hole and shoveled the remaining dirt in, stamping on it until it lay flat, then let out a sigh of blissful relief as the presence in his mind, which had become all too familiar over the course of these past months, simply vanished. Laughing euphorically, Bakura turned to Myrtle and kissed her.


	38. Kemet

Kemet

The next second lasted an eternity with Myrtle frozen to the spot; the next second she was whipped forward, across the lawn, in joyous swirls of twirling merriment.

"I feel so light, I could almost walk on water." Bakura breathed; stopping abruptly by the lake, so that Myrtle's still stiff body tipped into him.

"Yeah, I could tell." Myrtle muttered, still stuck in paralysis.

"You ok?" Myrtle blinked up at the sudden smile that Bakura unleashed on her, and nodded hesitantly. "You didn't mind, did you?"

Myrtle turned bright red under his questioning gaze, and her head dropped to stare at her now muddy shoes and give a self-conscious shake.

"You shouldn't be so embarrassed; we are…" Bakura paused, as if searching for the right word. "Dating, after all."

"I hardly could forget." Myrtle forced her head up to offer Bakura a timid smile, no matter how red her face was; she would stop cowering.

"That's better." Bakura nodded approvingly. "After all, I'm in this as much as you are; I'm no higher then you." He continued, falling into somewhat of a familiar rant. "In any way," he finished, with a firm nod for emphasis.

Myrtle's smile brightened, and she relaxed slightly; her arms falling about Bakura as they went limp and she just leaned against him. All, well most, of the evil glares would disappear, and she and Bakura would have a perfect spring semester, and everything in the world would be absolutely right. Right?

As they stood there, staring deeply into each other's eyes, the first snow began to fall and stick in their hair.

"What is this?" Bakura asked, brushing the few flakes that had accumulated off of Myrtle's shoulder.

"It's snow. You know, frozen water." Myrtle looked skeptically up at Bakura; hardly believing her ears, once again.

"That means it's really really cold, and so it cannot rain?" Bakura's face turned upward to stare at the grey clouds overhead, and the little white specs floating down.

"That's it!" Myrtle snapped, grabbing his hand and throwing all her weight forward to drag him past a few clumps of students who had not, Myrtle prayed, seen them kiss, and up and into Hogwarts. "You are going to help me find Kemet in the library!"

"You lived in Ancient Egypt?" Myrtle had hurriedly been flipping through her third encyclopedia when she finally found an entry on Kemet, which said that it was the ancient and native name for Egypt.

"I'm pretty hungry, we missed lunch; want to go down to the kitchen to get a bite to eat before dinner?" Bakura was suddenly at her side, his hand pushing the tome she had been studying firmly closed.

"You said you lived in Kemet."

"So I did."

"But no one calls it Kemet anymore." Myrtle's voice fell into a whisper as a pair of students meandered by.

"That does not make it any less Kemet; food!" Bakura urged, his eyes avoiding hers.

"I don't believe you." Myrtle replied stubbornly, crossing her arms and legs, closing her eyes, and shaking her head defiantly.

"I'm hungry!" The next moment she was on her feet and being dragged away.


	39. The truth, part of the truth, and evasio

The truth, part of the truth, and evasions

"I need to talk with the professor," Bakura told her, and practically fled, collapsing on the other side of the door. How was he supposed to deal with this? He wanted to tell her, but he had been told not to let anyone know.

Shaking his head, he took the stairs up to the headmaster's office, and knocked on the door. "Come in," Headmaster Dippet called, and Bakura entered, feeling as though there was a ball in his chest, chocking him. "You have something you want to talk with me about?"

"Yes sir," Bakura's lips curved in a sardonic smile. "The… You wished me to hide the circumstances of my arrival here, correct?" Dippet nodded gravely.

"I feel it would be for the best," he agreed.

The youth shrugged, looking at the desk so that he didn't have to see the ancient professor's face. "It probably would, but I'm not sure I can, not from everyone. There have been a few complications, and, well, I think Myrtle's beginning to suspect."

"I see," The Headmaster looked up at him seriously. "If you feel you can trust her to keep a secret then I suppose I cannot stop you. I feel, however, that the fewer people who know what you are the safer you will be."

"Yes, Professor," Bakura responded mildly, already heading out the door. "I'm sure you're right."

"Hey Myrtle." Bakura caught up to the girl as the crowd headed into the Great Hall for lunch. "Can I talk to you about something? Privately?"

"Eh?" She turned to him in surprise, then nodded slowly. "Hey, did you really skip classes to talk to some professor?"

"Yeah," He shrugged, and pulled her over to their usual seat, glaring around at anyone who came close until they were on their own. "There are more important things than schoolwork, even if I am behind." When she began to look guilty he continued, taking a piece of bread and buttering it slowly as he spoke. "I suppose it would have come up sooner or later, but for some reason I just wasn't expecting it. Still, you deserve to know."

Bakura shifted on the seat until he was facing her, wanting to see the expression on her face as he told her the truth. "Remember when we first met?" The girl nodded, looking surprised that he'd brought that up. "I'm still not really used to this place, or to this time, but I know I was even worse then. That's why I cut our 'conversation' short so quickly, but also why I asked you questions to begin with. I wasn't –" His lips curved upwards in a mocking smile, knowing that was a lie already. "I still don't really trust the Headmaster, and I wanted to make sure his story about this being a school was true."

Myrtle was still looking a bit dazed, but he figured that would just get worse as he told more of his story, so he didn't bother waiting for her to finish taking it in. "I really am from Kemet, before its name was changed – to Egypt, you said? Anyway, I don't know how exactly it happened, but the Pharaoh's guards caught me trying to sneak into the palace, and I ended up as the sacrifice in some ceremony – only I didn't die. I fell asleep, and when I woke up I was in the infirmary were we first met and the headmaster was bending over me speaking in a language I'd never heard before."

Noticing for the first time the piece of bread he had been shredding as he spoke, Bakura dropped the remainder onto his plate and finished quietly. "So Headmaster Dippet performed some spell that made me able to speak English, and made up that story I gave you about being from some backward country somewhere. I'm still not sure why I'm here and not locked up or something, but I suppose it's because I don't know what happened to bring me here. I'm glad that I'm here now, but it's still difficult sometimes because everything's so different and I don't know what I'm supposed to do." He tried to smile at her, although he knew the expression was weak and unhappy, and waited for her response. Would she accept what he'd told her? He hadn't lied to her, but he hadn't told her the whole truth either. She'd been shaken enough by the idea that a demon might be making him want to kill people. She didn't need to know how often he'd done just that on his own.


	40. What else is there to say?

What else is there to say?

To say that Myrtle was taken aback was an understatement. The idea that he was actually from ancient Egypt had never even crossed the farthest corners of her imagination; ok, it had, but Myrtle had never actually entertained the idea for longer then that split second.

"This must all be really strange for you." Myrtle blurted out, all her confusion and disbelief replaced quickly by chagrin; she had been so brusque with him at times, and had even thought him simple.

"Yeah," Bakura agreed, his eyes still moving agitatedly around her. "You're sure you don't mind?"

"It's surprising; I never would have guessed…" Muyrtle trailed off, her face turning a few tinges redder as her eyes fell to her mound of mashed potatoes. "But you're still Bakura; so, I don't see how I could mind…" How did one react to such a declaration?

"Yeah, I am still the same man."

"Or boy." Myrtle sent a skeptical look over the table. "Or did you lie about your age?"

"Add a few thousand years of sleep and the age is the same." Bakura replied calmly, though Myrtle didn't miss the small flinch at her accusation. "But yes, a man."

"That could be up for debate." Myrtle conceded slightly, trying to divert her mind from where he was from, to some simpler subject; like the weather! The weather was a lot different here then it would have been in ancient Egypt; Myrtle quickly scrapped that subject.

"The oranges are very good." Bakura's eyes had fallen to the fruit, and were watching his fingers peal away the slices with intensity worthy of a life or death situation. "Try some?" He proffered a piece, holding it to her face, his eyes finally moving to meet hers.

"Hmmm" Myrtle plucked the fruit from his fingers, and moved it the last few centimeters to her mouth. Her eyes ran over Bakura's deeply tanned face, as she slowly chewed. "It is very good."

The scratching of utensils against plates rang out; bodies intent on ingestion, and not looking at the other.

Myrtle couldn't help feeling there was more to all this. 'So, you've know the boy how long, and you can all of a sudden read him like a book?' The voices doubted; he hadn't ever lied, not really, just artfully avoided the truth.

But, if there was something; there should be nothing, between them. 'So, you've know the boy how long, and you're already married and spending the rest of your lives together?' No, but… Maybe.

'Whatever he deems worthy to tell you is all you should need to know; him telling you the time of day is doing you a great service.'

He kissed me.

'What does that matter?'

Doesn't that mean he loves me?

"Term will be starting tomorrow." Bakura was pushing the last remnants of some potatoes around his plate, as he looked up to hook Myrtle's gaze.

"Yes." Myrtle nodded before looking back down to her broccoli.

"I am sure it is going to be hard."

"Yeah."

"Can I say anything?"

"What?" Myrtle finally looked up again, startled.

"What do I have to say?" A muscle in Bakura's temple twitched in all too familiar irritation; Myrtle looked back down at her plate.

"Nothing."


	41. Spilling His Guts to Her

Spilling His Guts to Her

Bakura sighed and ran a hand through his hair. What he'd said wasn't enough for her, and he didn't blame her for not trusting him. After all, he'd been lying to her all this time about something as basic as who he was. It wasn't as though he'd ever given her any reason to trust him, and she was reacting more positively than he would have in her place.

"I grew up as a thief," he said abruptly, digging his nail into the skin of another orange and carefully picking off the skin. "The village where I grew up was a haven for criminals anyway since it was so out of the way of the Pharaoh's law-keepers and had an oasis which supplied precious water.

"My parents were good people, simple farmers who were content with what they had, but that wasn't what the Pharaoh and his court saw when he looked at us. They only cared that there were criminals there. So when the priests found a spell that could save Egypt from the barbarians who were threatening to overrun the country but required a huge sacrifice, they turned to Kuru Eruna.

"It was a massacre. The soldiers came through and simply razed the village, dragging the bodies of the dead to the priests to be melted into gold in order to create the Items that would save Egypt. I don't know how many died exactly, but I was one of the few survivors, a child small enough to hide in places where no one would think to look, and I saw their bloody ritual." His eyes burned with fury and helpless rage at the mere thought, and he moved on quickly.

"When everything was over the survivors came creeping out to pick up what was left and try to put their lives back together. It was a pretty pitiful little group – less than twenty remained out of what had been a bustling village. One of the visiting thieves took charge of everyone, made us take what food remained in the village and chivying us out of there. I don't remember much about that time – I couldn't think about anything other than what had happened to me and to my parents – but he taught me how to survive in the world, how to steal," He looked up briefly, then returned his gaze to his hands, which were fiddling with the globe of the orange uncertainly. "How to kill." There it was: the thing he had tried to keep from her set out in plain sight. He had killed, and even if he hadn't enjoyed it he'd do it again if he had to.

"I'm not sure how long it took, just as I don't know how old I really am, although I can make a reasonable guess at the second, but thanks in part to Zoku, who first appeared immediately after the massacre I learned pretty quickly and moved on from simple pick-pocketing to robbing the tombs of the dead. You may do it differently here, but those who could afford it would bury much of their wealth in the tomb with them to provide for themselves in the afterlife. It was like free money – if you could get to it and evade all the traps and curses inside the tomb itself. Diabound helped me there. With his help I could simply walk through the walls of the tombs of the tombs, bypassing the traps neatly. That made it easier to remember how to get out too.

"So anyway, by the time when I broke into the Pharaoh's palace I didn't need to do so – not for money anyway. I was there to get revenge." He shrugged. "I'm a bit fuzzy on that part, actually, since that was mostly Zoku's idea, but then, a lot of things back then are fuzzy. He was in my head for so long that it's difficult to be sure which of the things that I did were solely my own ideas and which were his, but I know that the idea of revenge was his. I would never have dreamed of going after the Pharaoh." He was babbling, Bakura realised abruptly, and shut up. Myrtle would come to her own decision, and if that made her hate him then he couldn't stop her by prattling on like he had been. Silent now, he waited for the blow to fall.


	42. Second Floor Corridor

Ch 42

Second Floor Corridor

"Isn't it a bit cold to be running around like that?" Bakura took in Myrtle's blouse, skirt, and robeless, appearance with some concern.

"It's spring!" Myrtle rolled her eyes and laughed; she found the spring whether of early May to be quiet invigorating, and a trip to Hogsmeade an opportunity to shed unnecessary layers of clothing. But others apparently did not view it as such.

"It's chilly." Bakura's fingers played over the knot of his tie, as if tightening said accessory would hold in more body heat.

"You will have to get used to this; Hogwarts is far from being in the desert."

"Kamet could get cold, but at least we knew to wear a decent amount of clothing." Bakura sighed, rolling his eyes in mock irritation as his fingers ran along a cuff of the offending shirt.

Myrtle shivered, ever so slightly, under this touch of his skin, on her clothes, to her skin. "We're already late to Hogsmeade; we should get going before it's time to come back." 

"It is not exactly the most exciting thing in the world."

"But it is ever so much more exciting then just sitting around here; so, what was it you wanted to show me?"

"If I told you, it would be much of a surprise would it?" Bakura's fingers clasping her wrist halted Myrtle as she moved past him.

"I guess not." Myrtle shrugged, watching the painting they were halted in front of as a unicorn chased a young man around a field. 

Golden fingers, that had picked many a lock, danced around the edges of the frame; there was a click, a sliding sound, and the painting swung forward to reveal a decent sized hole in the wall. 

"And whe-?" Before she could fully blink Bakura had jumped up, and was offering her a hand up; she blinked. "Does that lead?"

"All these questions." Bakura shook his head; taking her hand, he pulled her up into the stairwell; steep and narrow, Myrtle soon found herself in complete darkness.

"Is this like the inside of a pyramid?" Myrtle's fingers ran across rough stone as she climbed higher and higher.

"Sort of." Myrtle ran into Bakura, who had suddenly stopped at those words. Light appeared, and swallowed the darkness; taking her hand once more, Bakura lead Myrtle out onto a balcony high up on the roof.

The view was of almost the entirety of the grounds, and little dots of people moved slowly across the grass.

"I've only been this high up for astronomy, and then it's dark." Dizziness brushed against her for a moment, as Myrtle's breath caught in her throat.

"The stars are very similar." Bakura acknowledged, pointing downwards. There were carvings all along the bottom of the balcony.

"They're very crude." Myrtle leaned closer to inspect the jagged depictions of a snake.

"It was probably just some student." Bakura shrugged. "But it was sort of interesting."

Myrtle wasn't so sure; it was secret passage though, after all. It might be more useful some other time. Moving onto a carving of a rooster, Myrtle's mind began to wander quiet freely; inspiration struck.

"When is your birthday?"

"I was born some time between floods." At her blank expression he continued. "Some time in… Winter, I believe." This confessed, it was his turn to look clueless and wondering.

Well, I have to get you something; we only have a few hours before the Hogsmeade trip ends." Myrtle's enthusiasm suddenly skyrocketed, and her fingers quickly found hold around Bakura's for arm.

"What?"

"I have to buy you a birthday present; it won't be much, but I have to get you something." Myrtle continued, hardly noting the surprise that was written across his face.

"You give presents to a person on the day of their birth?"

"Yes, of co-" Myrtle stopped mid rush, finally catching on to his surprise. "Yes we do; sometimes we even throw a party to honor the person." Myrtle slowed down to explain; letting go of his arm.

"Oh," Bakura thought this over a moment. "But I did not get you anything."

"That doesn't matter, but you could get me something now, but we better get going." With that, Myrtle clutched at Bakura's hand and practically dragged him down the stairs. Maybe it was the lingering dizziness, or the way it reminded her of his less then perfect past, maybe it was the carvings that seemed to get more and more gruesome as they wove their way up to the ceiling, or maybe it was the simple fact that it was plain old boring, but Myrtle was all too happy to escape.

Myrtle could feel the water seeping into her shoes immediately after she jumped back down into the second floor corridor, the length of which was completely submerged in five centimeters of water. 

"What kinds of things would you want for your birthday?" Myrtle broke into the relative silence of their squelching footsteps. 

"I do not know." Bakura bumped into Myrtle as his shoulder dipped down. "Most of the things you seem to take for granted, I do not even know what they are; surprise me." Myrtle glanced up just in time to catch the tail end of a smile.

"Bakura!" The pair was passing through the Great Hall when Dumbledor's voice rang out across the expanse.

"Could you come with me to see the head master?" Dumbledore, while his face gave little away to Myrtle, seemed somewhat drawn as he quickly caught up to her and Bakura.


	43. You are Much Prettier then Her

Chapter 43

You are Much Prettier then Her 

Myrtle was yelling. Bakura moved faster, rounding the corner at a pace that was almost a run, and stopped, smirking. Olive Hornby was backed against the wall as Myrtle screamed at her and a group of interested Gryffindors and Slytherins surrounded them.

She was loud enough and fast enough that it was difficult to understand her, but Bakura caught something about boyfriends and her face. Not bothering to suppress his amused smile he came up behind his girl and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, silently backing her up. Myrtle smiled at him gratefully and finished more calmly. "If I'm so pathetic and ugly then how come I have a boyfriend and you don't?"

"I think," Bakura said dryly to Myrtle, "That even if she were pretty enough to attract someone simply because of her looks that tongue of hers would drive them off in an hour." A pause for effect and then, "And you're much prettier than her."

That did it. Hornby flung herself at them, tears of mingled rage and humiliation streaking her face. Bakura pulled Myrtle away, and watched the older girl take off down the corridor, running into the first available room and slamming the door. The girl's bathroom, he noted with a twinge of amusement.

No one moved to follow her. She had been mildly popular once, leading a group of the other girls in taunting Myrtle, but with her usual victim absent or ignoring her had turned on the other girls in her group. By this time she had succeeded in alienating even the most tolerant of the other Slytherins, and since she was the type who thought the other Houses were inherently worthless that left her alone.

"Come on Myrtle." He looked down at the girl, who looked a little shaken by the reaction her last salvo had received. "Let's get back to the common room."

Myrtle nodded and allowed him to steer her in the general direction, but stopped and veered off into an unused part of the dungeon. Once she was sure they were alone she asked quietly, "Do you really think I'm pretty?"

He blinked. That was… what did that have to do with anything? "Of course." It still surprised him every time he saw her glasses or looked at her eyes and realised they weren't outlined with kohl or at her pale skin, but her dark eyes and hair were reassuringly familiar. She really wasn't old enough yet to be beautiful, but he did think she was pretty, even though he really didn't want to go into detail.

Fortunately the girl accepted his reassurance, wrapping her hand around his and leaning against his shoulder with a sweet smile. Bakura's face felt very hot, and he was disappointed when she pulled away and reminded him that it was getting late and they should be getting back to their common room before curfew.

They were the focus of everyone's eyes when they entered. The attention didn't bother him, but the fact that he couldn't seem to stop flushing and remembering the way Myrtle had felt pressed against him did. The smile on her face and the warm tingling feeling against his side where she had been reminded him that if he were still in his own time he would be considered more than old enough to marry.

This wasn't Kemet, though, and he reminded himself of that very firmly. There would be… problems… here if he forgot where he was, as he'd been reminded by Professor Dippet just the other day. Of course, Dippet had been talking about thievery and assault not… well. Still the point was valid, as the number of times he had been called a child since he had arrive proved to him.

He had been saved and brought here rather than jailed and imprisoned because of his 'youth'. The professors had power over him by right of that same youth. He was considered harmless because he was so young he couldn't possibly do anyone any real harm.

Flustered by the attention, Myrtle ran up the stairs to the girl's dormitory. The others looked at him but he glared at them until they looked away before stalking upstairs to his own room. He had studying to do. Anything to take his mind off Myrtle.


	44. Imagination

Imagination

Snuggling down under the blankets that night Myrtle's mind was abubble with a single name, a single face, and a single touch; so very different from the mocking voices that had serenaded her every thought, they seemed little more then a distant recollection.

The entire afternoon, minus the creepy carvings, and the fact that the rest of the afternoon had been spent in soaked socks because of the flooding of the girls' bathroom, had been heart pounding, amazing; she carefully relived every moment a second and third time.

They had made it to Hogsmeade in plenty of time, despite all of Myrtle's doomsday assertions that they would get there and be turned right around and sent back. They had spent the following hours mostly just wandering around and staring at storefronts and at the others around them. His arm had remained wrapped, protectively, around her waist: maintaining a buzzing in the back of her mind.

And as their time drew to a close Myrtle had let the carefree afternoon go only slowly; walking back up to the castle she had pulled him aside for a meander around the lake which had then lengthened into a wordless pause beyond a line of trees to gaze out across the rippling water.

"Do you still miss it?" Myrtle's face had turned up from his shoulder to gaze up into his face.

"Yes." The eyes that had greeted her were sad and tired even as his mouth twisted into a masking smile.

Of course he did, even now, safely distanced in time and distance from the situation she felt shame creeping into the back of her conscious. She had turned away; looking out over the lake of water she had tried to imagine it into sand, but couldn't quite wrap her mind around it.

She had looked back up at him, and the hopelessness of it all had welled up in her. He was here with her; what was it, exactly, that she could do for him anyway? She was little consolation for the time, place, and people he had lost. While he had revolutionized her life, and turned everything on its head, what had she done for him?

He had seemed to draw closer then; move into a clearer focus that threw his eyes and mouth into sharp relief against the backdrop of his tan skin. Her heart continued its loud hammering in her ears and chest and she wanted to do something for him; perhaps it was hormonal, perhaps shocking, but it had seem the right thing to do.

Myrtle's hands had reached up to cradle Bakura's face and bring it down to her face, even as her body lifted up onto the tips of her toes to meet him. This was not their first kiss, but it was nonetheless charged with an energy that thickened her blood and set her senses ablaze in a way she could hardly have thought of before.

This was not about her; he seemed to get the idea though.

As is the nature of such experiences they had separated slowly what seemed an age and an eternity later; Myrtle could still conjure up a faint reflection of the electricity of his lips finally separating from hers.

"I can't imagine here without you." It sounded leaden and selfish to her ears, but he had accepted it; it seemed to be enough for him. He was far too good for her…

"Everyone down to the common room!" Apparently, despite the hormonal rushing about of her feelings, Myrtle had somehow managed to fall asleep; this peace had been shattered by a yell and the slamming of the dorm door.

"Wha's happening?" Several muffled voices contested what turned out to be a prefect shuffling them out of bed in the middle of the night, but she would neither reveal anything that even remotely resembled an explanation, or except any excuse; several short seconds later Myrtle found herself in an uncomfortably close common room, her arms wrapped around her own torso, somewhat self-conscious of her being only in her pajamas; searching the crowd of Slytherins for Bakura.

Apparently the last to be fetched she spotted him walking briskly down from the boy's quarter hastily pulling the last of his uniform together.

"Do you sleep in your school clothes?" Myrtle inquired, Bakura's odd behavior being a priority over whatever absurd occurrence had them all gathered here together at such an unheard of hour.

"Of course not."

"Are we all here then?" The head of house called over the student's head to the prefects who replied in the affirmative. "Dear students, there has been an occurrence which requires me to escort all of you to the Great Hall; don't be alarmed, you will receive more information there from the Head Master."

"Then why do you get to be in normal clothes while I'm running around in my nightclothes?" Myrtle pursued the subject in firm whispers as they were filed out of the common room.

"In Kemet it would not be all that surprising for me to wear almost the exact same clothes day in and day out until they wore out; your bed clothes, and day clothes are far too constricting, so I usually resort to as little of your clothing as possible."


	45. Look Who's Not Dead

Look Who's Not Dead

Catching Myrtle's hand in his, Bakura docilely followed Professor Slughorn through the halls to the Great Hall, smiling down at his sweetheart. The girl's expression as she smiled back at him was blindingly bright, and he felt his mood lifting almost in spite of himself. Whatever else might be going on he had her.

Steering the girl through the packed masses of Slytherins filling the Great Hall, Bakura angled them so that they had a decent view of the stage. Myrtle leaned against him and looked up at him trustingly as Dippet held up a shaking hand in a clear signal for silence.

"Students," the headmaster said in a carrying voice, looking around the packed hall. "I regret to say that there has been a tragic accident. Miss Olive Hornby is – dead."

The room instantly filled with voices clamoring for the headmaster's attention. Myrtle's grip on Bakura's arm tightened and he looked down to see that she had gone very white. It took him a moment to realize that she was scared, but once he figured out that much the rest fell into place easily enough. Myrtle had always viewed Hogwarts as a safe place. Suddenly realizing that people could be killed in a place that was supposed to be safe would be terrifying.

Dippet raised his voice, trying to calm the students. When the hall finally quieted enough that Bakura could hear what the headmaster was saying, Dippet had gestured Tom Riddle up to the front of the room with him and wrapped a proprietary arm around the boy's shoulders. "Young Tom here assisted me in finding the source of the accident which cost Miss Hornby her life, and for his bravery in the face of possible danger and his quick thinking, I am proud to present him with a Special Award for Services to the School."

Bakura grimaced. Knowing Riddle, he'd use this unashamedly to attract still more idiots to follow him around. Fortunately the older boy wasn't interested in first year students, but the court following that he had surrounded himself with weren't all so picky about who they tormented. Myrtle had been one of their targets for some time before Bakura had managed to get it through their heads that they weren't to touch her.

Dismissing all thoughts of Riddle and his coterie, Bakura turned his attention back to the shivering girl clinging to his arm, and carefully pulled her into an embrace. Myrtle turned into him gratefully, pressing herself closer into his arms as though she wanted to hide there from the world, and he smiled. It felt good to have her turn to him for protection. He'd never had anyone think that he would help them before; they'd always been turning to others to get rid of him, not depending on him to take care of them.

"It's all right Myrtle," he reassured her quietly, stroking her back with gentle hands. "You heard the headmaster. Everything's been taken care of. Whatever went wrong, it's been fixed. Hornby may have died, but nobody else is going to get hurt." He actually wasn't completely certain of that, but he didn't think that saying so would help anything, and Myrtle did seem to be relaxing as he spoke.

"You're sure it's all right?" Myrtle asked him tentatively, looking up at him with teary eyes, face gone red and blotchy as it always did when she cried. "Hornby's dead! What happens if someone else dies?"

Purpose straightened his back, and Bakura felt his face growing grim and still. "Then it won't be you." He said quietly. Shrugging the away the thought, he grinned and added quickly. "But come on, Myrtle! Do you honestly think that the teachers aren't going to all be just as worried as you are? They'll make sure that whatever killed Hornby doesn't cause any more trouble."

Dippet said something else that he didn't quite catch, and the usual tables in the Great Hall filled with food. Death or no death, there was breakfast. Mood lightening, Bakura steered Myrtle to a chair, and wrapped an arm around her comfortingly. "It'll be all right," he told her. "You'll see."

It was a vow he made to himself as much as to her. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. She was depending on him, and he resolved to be worthy of that dependence. Myrtle had done enough for him when there was every reason for her to run from him. She had always stood by him. He wouldn't let her down, not now that she needed him. No matter what, he wouldn't let her get hurt. She deserved to be happy, as he never had.

He loved her.


End file.
